The Krum Legacy
by underthemoonandstars
Summary: Harry Potter is spirited away after the attack at Godric's Hollow. He's raised as a member of the Krum family, not returning to England until the Triwizard Tournament. Upon his return, he comes face to face with the family he left behind, the one he doesn't want.
1. Betrayal

_I always swore to myself that I wouldn't fall into such clichés as the Twin-Who-Lived, Manipulative Dumbledore, or Adopted Harry. But these are my favorite to read, and I couldn't help myself. Any similarities to other stories is coincidental and the result of me taking the cliché route. Enjoy!_

**October 31, 1981**

Godric's Hallow was eerily silent. As it was currently 11:04 at night, this wasn't unexpected for a sleepy little village with no nightlife to speak of, even on Halloween. A solitary figure hidden from the world by a simple black cloak strolled down the road with serpentine grace and a purposeful stride. Lord Voldemort didn't fear the silence or the darkness that blanketed the streets; he reveled in it.

The Dark Lord approached the cottage at the end of a quiet neighborhood, anticipation licking at the edges of his mind. There was a time when Tom Riddle didn't feel a thrill of glee when killing, only a sense of accomplishment. That time had long since passed. A fractured soul accompanied a fractured mind, and Tom's sanity had been bleeding away from him with each successive horcrux.

With the barest hint of his focus, Lord Voldemort stared down the Potter's home. Before his eyes layers of light reveled themselves to him, showing the complicated warding that surrounded the house. Charms for the detection and extraction of unwelcomed guests were woven together artfully. For a moment, Voldemort appreciated the power and skill behind the charm work. It was a valiant effort and if he were any other man, it may have been enough. Of course, he wasn't any other man. He was arguably one of the world's most powerful sorcerers, and the only charm strong enough to impede his mission, the Fidelius, laid on top of the others in tatters, broken by a damning betrayal.

The betrayer in question opened the front door, nervous and rat-like in appearance, Peter Pettigrew peered out the door only to throw himself to the ground upon seeing his master. Voldemort breezed past him, triggering several wards to the presence of a hostile entity. It did not matter, the Potter's were currently at an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix held deep within Hogwarts. By the time they arrived, it would be too late.

The Dark Lord swept through the cottage, barely sparing a glance at the homey interior. Instead, he crept up the stairs and down the hall, approaching the nursery. A pale, spidery hand pushed the door open silently, and Voldemort got the first look at his prophesized downfall.

Two white cribs sat side by side, both holding sleeping infants. The one on the right held a fifteen-month-old redhead cuddling a stuffed buck. The left held it's black-haired twin, lying near a stuffed dog. For a moment, an incredible fury seemed to run through Voldemort. One of these brats was destined to destroy him? The greatest wizard alive? It was a joke, nearly unbelievable. But he couldn't afford to have any loose ends. With that thought in mind, the Dark Lord raised his yew wand to the dark-haired one, the one who more resembled himself, first. The smooth words of the killing curse snaked past his lips. The room flashed a brilliant green and Lord Voldemort's world imploded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grigor Krum was a stern looking man with thick eyebrows over black eyes, his nose was noticeably curved and he possessed dark brown hair cut short. Even though he was a bit shorter than most men, his square jaw and muscled physique radiated strength and masculinity, making him an intimidating force in any room he entered. This was very advantageous to Mr. Krum, as his occupation as a competitive dueler required a certain formidable flair, as well as his more day-to-day work as a ruthless business owner.

It was dueling that brought Grigor to Godric's Hallow on Halloween. Not only was Grigor a fighter but he also played a large role in the more illegal aspects of dueling, such as gambling. Jay Ashberry, who lived three houses down from the Potters, had a considerable debt to pay. A debt so large and so long evaded that Mr. Krum had traveled all the way from Bulgaria to remind Jay of it personally.

After a thorough round of verbal abuse and physical intimidation, Krum swept out of the small cottage that Ashberry called home, leaving the man a pale, sniveling wreck spouting out promises of full payment by the end of November.

Grigor moved to grab his portkey out of a pocket of his black robes, when an explosion of sickly green light shattered the peace of the night. If the noise and flash hadn't tipped off the world to it's presence, then the magical backlash would have accomplished the job easily. Grigor felt the explosion in his very bones, and being a man who feared almost nothing, went racing toward the last cottage on the street. He was just starting to step around the wreckage when several pops alerted Krum to the arrival of more wizards and witches.

Remembering that he was here in the first place for less than legal purposes, Grigor whipped out his wand and cast a silent Disillusionment Charm. Between the charm and the darkness, Grigor was all but invisible and began to back away from the ruins silently as a red-haired woman shrieked and ran desperately to the hallow remains of her house, a dark-haired man with glasses sprinting right behind her. Krum was nearly what he considered a safe distance away to Apparate, after which he would use his portkey elsewhere, when a small whimper caught his attention. Looking down, he spotted a raven-haired child on the ground, face screwed up in pain with a bloody gash on his forehead. Being no stranger to some of the darker aspects of magic, Krum could feel a haunting power surrounding the boy, a shadow of great and terrible sorcery. Intrigued, Grigor plucked the child from the ground and looked around.

Krum took in his surroundings with sharp eyes. The original group of wizards to arrive, a motley crew of young people who'd run straight for the house, was being joined by much more cautious and official Aurors. In the midst of all the chaos stood the tall and ancient form of Albus Dumbledore giving out orders with an out of place sense of calm. Krum nearly sneered while applying a Disillusionment Charm to the child in his arms. Although Krum had never met the man, he held no love for Dumbledore. His place as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards had caused more than a few headaches for Grigor, who's daily profession of privatizing the gathering of wand components into one company ran by him, instead of a disconnected collection of hunters that had done the job until then, was impeded frequently by the meddling old fools politics and sanctions on the treatment of non humanoid magical creatures. Grigor was also an acquaintance of Igor Karkaroff, who could wax poetic for hours on Dumbledore's underhanded, manipulative ways. Krum had fallen out of communication with Igor once he joined the Death Eaters, remembering painfully the death of his own father at the hands of Gellert Grindelwald. He had no patience for Dark Lords or their followers; another reason Grigor could never trust Dumbledore. There were rumors floating around to this day, at least in Eastern Europe, of a partnership between Grindelwald and Dumbledore. In his books, this was an unforgivable offense.

Shaking away thoughts of the Headmaster, Grigor Krum contemplated his next move. His concentration was shattered by a squeal of "Tommy!" Looking up, Krum watched the pretty redhead from earlier rush out of her skeleton house, clutching a bundle of blankets. She was crying and kissing the bundle reverently. "James! I found Tommy! Have you found Harry?" The hope in her voice, ignited by the discovery of one unharmed, if unconscious, son, was quickly decimated by the agonized reply.

"No. I can't find him in the house." The pain in his voice was easily detectable as he staggered out of the home, the hand of an attractive man of a similar age on his shoulder.

"We should search the grounds. Maybe he escaped with a little accidental magic," the other man replied hopefully. All three were about to continue their search, before a deep, grave voice gave them pause.

"I'm afraid that won't do much good, Sirius. I can't sense a young magical signature anywhere else but in your arms, Lily. It would seem that Harry has been lost to us tonight," Albus stated sympathetically, but with confidence. There was strong traces of Dark magic scattered around the area, some places more concentrated then others, like the weak, dark aura surrounding Tommy at the moment, as well as the lasting imprint of broken wards, but Albus couldn't detect a second young magical core. Being overconfident in his abilities, Albus shared this fact to avoid a lengthy, painful, fruitless search. "I believe he has been destroyed by Lord Voldemort himself," Albus hypothesized, causing most of the surrounding wizards to flinch, Grigor Krum being an exception as he eavesdropped on the conversation. The one called Lily completely broke down at this point, falling into her husbands trembling arms, clutching her surviving son and wailing her devastation.

"How can you be sure?" choked the young man apparently named Sirius. Dumbledore pulled a wand out of his robes, a wand that had been handed to him by an Auror minutes before.

"This wand, Voldemort's wand, was found in the wreckage, along with a pile of robes. The only theory that makes sense is that Voldemort came tonight to stop the prophecy and turned his wand on Thomas. The Dark magic in the air seems to suggest the killing curse was used recently, perhaps rebounding off young Thomas and destroying Voldemort instead, maybe destroying his brother as well, unless Voldemort had killed him first. I can't be certain. Reading magical residue is a fine art, some details are beyond even my detection," Albus said regretfully. Some of these assumptions may seem like large jumps of logic, but with Harry's body missing, there was no other reasonable explanation to be had.

"It would seem that tonight will go down in history. The greatest Dark wizard of the age has fallen to the only person to ever survive the killing curse," Dumbledore continued. At this point, Grigor Krum looked down at the disillusioned bundle in his arms. The child had fallen asleep, as Grigor stood silently, listening as facts started to unfold. Knowing what the others didn't, he theorized that it was in fact the child in his arms that had rebounded the killing curse, not the one in Lily's. This left Grigor with a decision to make; what should he do with the boy? On one hand, he felt bad for the crying woman and her husband. He couldn't even imagine the devastation of losing his five-year-old son: Viktor. However, the idea of letting such a powerful wizard, for there was no question that one day this boy would be powerful, stay in the reach of Albus Dumbledore was out of the question. The man would see hundreds dead to reach his goals, he was no different then Grindelwald in Krum's opinion. With that in mind, Grigor continued to evaluate his options. It occurred to him that, if he left the boy here, the fame of his accomplishments would ruin him. Grigor knew enough of the English press to know that the boy would be put on a pedestal for something he didn't remember. That kind of fame, the kind gotten without hard work, would corrupt him no doubt, creating a spoiled monster. His thoughts drifted back to his son Viktor. Viktor was strong, talented, and his greatest pride. Grigor and his wife had been discussing having a second child, seeing how much they loved the first. Smiling down at the boy, Grigor Krum came to a decision. Backing away a few more feet, avoiding a rat he nearly stepped on, Grigor Disapparated with a small pop, Harry James Potter securely in his arms.


	2. Fallout

_Quick note, anything in italics is not spoken in English. In this case, the italics are Bulgarian. In future chapters they may be a different language, but it'll always be established in the authors note or the story itself. I know this chapter is a lot of explanation and contemplation and not a lot of action but it'll pick up soon. Enjoy!_

**January 29, 1982**

James Potter was sitting in a muggle pub. This wasn't a usual occurrence, as James was a Pureblood wizard and barely understood muggle money, let alone muggle technology. However, the muggle world had become a haven in the last three months, ever since Tommy had become the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. There wasn't a place in the wizarding world James, Lily or Tommy could go without being mobbed by admirers. The sheer amount of letters and gifts sent to the Potter's house was staggering, and no matter what wards Lily tried to erect to keep the owls out, they always seemed to find a way around them.

James closed his eyes and knocked back a shot. He preferred this pub over the other muggle ones he'd been to, it was clean but worn with dim lights that flickered. If he didn't think too hard about it, he could almost image the room was lit by candles instead of electricity. This was a small comfort, but it was certainly needed after all that he'd been through these last few months.

His Harry, his baby boy, was dead. Destroyed by the most powerful Dark wizard in ages, there hadn't even been a body to bury. It only rubbed salt into the wound to know that while his family grieved, the rest of the country was celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord. There had been no celebrating for the Potters. Even with Tommy's elevated status as savior and the overwhelming relief of his survival, there could be no distraction from the pain and rage of Halloween: pain for losing a son, rage for being betrayed by a friend.

The betrayal of Peter Pettigrew had been a horrible slap to the face. The Order had suspected a leak for a while, but hadn't had a clue who it could be. No one wanted to suspect their friends of stabbing them in the back. The sting of Peter's treachery only seemed to get worse as more of his behavior came to light. Not only had he betrayed the Potter's as their Secret Keeper, he'd also submitted an anonymous tip about a raid on Hogsmeade that had been the reason for the emergency Order meeting in the first place. He'd then offered to babysit Tommy and Harry, citing James' and Lily's involvement in the Order as more paramount then his own. Maybe it was arrogance or pride, but for whatever reason the Potters accepted his excuse and left the safety of their children in the hands of one of their closest friends. The bottomless pit of hate James, and Sirius and Remus for that matter, held for Peter Pettigrew couldn't be diluted by all of the alcohol in the world. It only agitated James further knowing that the rat was still out there, unpunished for what he'd done.

So caught up in his thoughts, James almost didn't notice when his two closest friends sat down on either side of him without saying a word.

"How'd you guys find me?" he mumbled tiredly, not caring enough to try to figure out the answer himself.

"Nothing too complicated, just a locator spell. You haven't exactly been trying all that hard to keep your location hidden," Remus said quietly, motioning to the bartender to get him and Sirius drinks.

"What's the point? Voldemort's dead and his followers are too busy running around trying to hide or lie their way out of justice," James said, his mind drifting briefly to a certain blonde aristocrat claiming to be Imperiused and throwing money at anyone willing to listen.

"That doesn't mean it's not still dangerous, James, especially for you and your family," Remus chided. "You know what happened to the Longbottoms…" The silence following the statement was tense and heavy as the bartender put a pair of beers down on the counter. The torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity was one more weight on James' heavy conscience.

"Is there a reason you two are here?" James snapped, not in the mood to be lectured on his own safety. He was a grown man; he could take care of himself. The alcohol certainly wasn't helping him tolerate his friends at the moment.

"You need to go home, James," Sirius stated flatly. "Lily needs you and so does Tommy. Sitting in a muggle pub and imaging ways to castrate Peter isn't helping anyone." James decided not to dignify that with a response, considering he knew Sirius wanted to see Peter dead just as much as he did. He decided to switch the subject to the real problem.

"How can I face her? How can I look my wife in the eye after what happened?" James questioned instead, his voice shaking. While he was drowning in his grief, he hadn't been going out so much to get drunk. He was going out to avoid Lily, the woman he loved more than anything, the one he failed.

"She doesn't blame you," Remus said gently. No one blamed James for anything except himself.

"She should. I put my trust, Harry's life, in the hands of a lying bastard. That makes what happened my fault. Lily didn't want him to be the Secret Keeper, but I insisted, and look what happened!"

"By that logic it's my fault, not yours," Sirius said quietly. "Switching to Peter was my idea. If you're going to blame yourself, then you have to blame me too." James avoided eye contact. He didn't blame Sirius for what happened, he couldn't. He remembers walking into Sirius' study on November first, the Potters stayed with him for a few days considering his house looked like a bomb had gone off, and seeing him slumped in a chair, crying, drinking, ranting about the injustice of it all and how he was going to make Peter regret what he'd done. It was truly heartbreaking to witness; James would never forget the look of sheer agony on his friend's face, the look he knew was reflected on his own.  
"You know I don't," James stated simply. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, where Sirius and Remus sipped on their drinks and waited to get what they wanted, James let out a sigh. "You guys aren't gonna leave, are you?" he questioned pointlessly. They shook their heads. James stood up and threw money on the counter; he hoped it was the right amount- muggle currency was so confusing. Sirius and Remus followed him out of the pub and down the street where they disappeared with a series of pops. James had a wife to support and a son to raise.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Krum Manor was without question a beautiful home. The white columns and arches gave it a regal flair, leaving no doubt that people of means lived here. Many could, however, make the argument that the house paled in comparison to the grounds surrounding it. Iskra Krum was not ashamed to admit to her obsession with water fountains, they could be found all throughout her well kept gardens, varying from simple waterspouts to beautifully complex statues with water pouring artfully from the stone. There was a manicured Quidditch pitch in the back as well as plenty of open land for a peaceful flight on a broomstick, all hidden with a multitude of wards, spells, and Muggle-Repelling Charms.

Grigor Krum had just returned to his beautiful house from a four day long dueling competition in Sofia. He had secured fourth overall out of one hundred and fifty competitors, qualifying for the European Dueling Finals. He swept out of the fireplace in a triumphant mood; grin growing wider as he spied his family waiting for him in the sitting room.

Iskra Krum was a Russian beauty with long dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and stunningly pale skin. Her demeanor was generally dispassionate and stoic; although she obviously had a soft spot for her boys, much like Grigor himself. Next to her was their son Viktor. Viktor was a mini version of Grigor with matching black eyes, curved nose and dark hair. He was holding his mothers hand but when his father arrived he made a beeline for Grigor, throwing his skinny arms around his dad. The youngest member of the family was a black-haired toddler squirming in his mother's arms. The big green eyes of Vladimir Krum set him clearly apart from the rest of his family.

"_Welcome home, Grigor_," Iskra said as she stepped up to give her husband a peck on the cheek. She held out Vladimir, who had redoubled his efforts of escape, for his father to take.

"_It is good to be back," _Grigor replied, taking his youngest son into his arms.

"_Dad! Dad, did you win?"_ Viktor asked excitedly. Viktor was extremely interested in his father's dueling career. He often bragged to his friends that his daddy was the best dueler ever. The only thing that seemed to preoccupy Viktor more than dueling was Quidditch. He only had a toy broomstick but managed to push it to feats far beyond it's design, even employing accidental magic to break the charms limiting how high it goes. Iskra nearly had a heart attack when she looked out her window to see Viktor forty feet in the air on his toy broom, angled down for a slow dive.

"_I have placed fourth, which means I get to move on to the European Finals_," Grigor replied only a little bitterly. He was sure he could have won if Borislav Danchev hadn't pulled off a lucky shot towards the end. Viktor didn't pick up on the tone and smiled widely at his father. The family adjourned to the dining room, a large room characterized by the long rosewood dining table, where they ate a meal served by house-elves before the boys were sent to bed. While most kids would protest against going to bed, Viktor was almost eager due to the many lectures Grigor had given on how sleep was the key to becoming a better dueler and Quidditch player. Vladimir, on the other hand, was too young to be manipulated in such a way. Every night was a fight and every night Iskra would win.

Once the boys were down, Iskra and Grigor returned to the sitting room. They exchanged idle chitchat for a few minutes, talking of the dueling competition and Iskra's work with the family business, if only to ensure Viktor was actually asleep and not going to wander down and overhear. After a while they became more confident in their privacy, and began discussing what had been on their minds all night.

"_Did your cousin get the adoption through_?" Grigor questioned his wife quietly. It had been agony competing while knowing that an owl could arrive home any minute with Vladimir's fate attached. Iskra's cousin, Sergei, was a higher-up in the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic and no stranger to bending the rules for family, friends, or personal gain.

"_Yes. Legally, a nameless orphan you found being drowned by a rat-like man while gathering unicorn hairs in the Forest of Dean is now our son. According to the newspapers Harry Potter is dead, no one will look for him. If his identity is discovered we will come off as good Samaritans, not kidnappers." _Iskra often spoke with little inflection, coming off as cold or uninterested, but anyone would be able to hear the excitement in her voice. "_Since you obliviated Ashberry,_ _there's only one person left alive who could dispute our story now."_

Upon his return home from Godric's Hallow, Grigor had thrown himself into research about what had happened, trying to come up with a believable back story for his acquisition of Vladimir in case they were ever caught. His attention had been immediately drawn to the one who betrayed the family in the first place and then disappeared completely, a perfect scapegoat.

"_No worries, Iskra. If Peter Pettigrew ever returns from whatever hole he's hiding in, I won't allow him to live long enough to dispute anything."_


	3. Hunt

_The dialogue in italics is Bulgarian. Brace yourself for a large time jump. Enjoy!_

**October 30, 1994**

Vladimir Krum was disappointed. He and his brother had been sent on a mission for the family business- they were to gather more dragon heartstring for a wandmaker in Canada. Due to protection acts for dragons, the Krums had to wait for a dragon to attack someone before it was legal to kill it for wand materials. The reports of an unidentified dragon reeking havoc on a small village in Germany had been music to their ears until they actually arrived. Vladimir sighed in boredom as he watched a Welsh Green swing it's tail at a barn. He'd been hoping for a challenge, maybe a Hebridean Black or Peruvian Vipertooth. Instead, Vladimir and Viktor were staring down the dragon equivalent of a squib.

"_Do you want to distract it this time, or shall I?" _Viktor asked casually while checking a magically expanding sword in the sheath at his side. Most blades would bend upon contact with the hide of a dragon, but the Krums had all of their weapons specially commissioned. Forged by goblins and infused with dragon blood (use seven of the Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood was the strengthening and fortification of metals), there was very little Viktor's broadsword couldn't pierce. The hide of a Common Welsh Green wouldn't be a problem.

"_I think I'll distract it this time. It's been a while since I've been the distraction."_ Honestly, Vladimir didn't care one way or the other. If it had been a more worthy opponent, he might have requested to be the one to kill it, but there wasn't much glory to be found in dispatching a Welsh Green. If he couldn't hold the accomplishment over Viktor's head, where's the fun?

"_Wait for my mark, then_," Viktor commanded as he pulled a shrunken broom out of the equipment bag at his feet. The two brothers were currently in a small copse of trees watching the dragon stagger about slowly. They had a perfect view of the beast, which had yet to notice them. Viktor's broom expanded with a flick of his wand, which he holstered before kicking off and hovering in the air, sword at the ready.

"_What about us_?" The question made Vladimir roll his emerald eyes as he turned around to face the two material hunters under his father's employ that had been sent to join them. They were both well-experienced and capable hunters. The man who had spoken was in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair known simply by his surname: Ivanov. His most distinguishing feature was the heavy scaring around his right eye, a gift given to him by the talons of a Phoenix he tried to pluck a feather off of early in his career when he was young and stupid. The second was a surly Frenchman in his late thirties named Armand Baudin. He was in a particularly bad mood, as he didn't speak a single word of Bulgarian and the other three refused to speak anything else. He had made multiple pleas in English, knowing that both of the Krum boys had some grasp of it, but he was frequently ignored. Ivanov didn't know any French or English and was perfectly content to let Baudin suffer.

"_Stay out of the way. If we die, lie and say we were murdered by Baudin to spare our family the shame of death by Common Welsh Green,"_ Vladimir stated drily. He'd never be able to look his father in the eye in the afterlife if he died on this hunt. Vladimir watched Baudin grind his teeth when he heard his name in a sentence he couldn't understand. To further irritate him, Vladimir turned to him and said in accented English, "stay here." Vladimir turned back to his brother and valiantly refused to laugh at or acknowledge the look on Baudin's face.

Viktor raised one eyebrow as he tried to fight off his own smile. Teasing their father's employees was one of the simple pleasures in life not to be left unappreciated. Turning himself to more serious matters, Viktor nodded his head at his brother before ascending higher in the air, until he was hanging about five meters above the ground and waited for his brother to get started. A sharp whistle pierced the evening air as Vladimir swaggered out of their hiding spot, wand at the ready. The previously disinterested dragon turned to face the youngest Krum, watching and waiting. It was this lack of aggression that gave the Welsh Green it's reputation. If the Krum's had been dealing with a Peruvian Vipertooth, it would have already attempted to rip Vladimir's head off.

Pointing his wand, one of Gregorovitch's only post retirement wand sales, at the beast's face, Vladimir let out a series of flash charms and wand sparks, effectively blinding it for a few moments while it thrashed about and let loose a pained roar. Viktor used the time to fly around the dragons head until he was a few meters behind it and completely out of it's line of sight, all he needed now was for it's head to be kept still. The dragon seemed to regain it's bearings along with quite a bit of rage and sucked in air, preparing for a nice blast of fire. It didn't disappoint as a column of bright orange flame shot out toward Vladimir who deftly leapt out of the way, not coming close to being hit. Viktor maintained his position, making sure to adjust with the dragon to keep out of sight.

Vladimir seemed intent on wasting time as he allowed the dragon a few more blasts and quite a bit of enraged roaring before finally raising his wand again. After a few complicated twists of his hand, a rope shot out of his wandtip, wrapping around the dragons snout and shutting it's mouth. Vladimir pulled his wand down and tapped the grass, anchoring the rope to the ground more effectively then any stake could achieve. The process was repeated five more times; twice more on the snout and three times around it's neck. The dragon's thrashing had turned desperate, but it was unable to wrench any of the ropes free or even move it's scaly head. Large yellow eyes were opened wide in panic, and it's wings were just beginning to spread in a final bid for freedom when Viktor acted.

Shooting forward on his broom, Viktor raised the sword up so the blade was pointing down and threw himself off the broom and onto the dragon, sword first. All of his weight pushed his broadsword down through the dragon's skull with an audible crack. The three-meter-tall beast shuttered before swaying and collapsing forward with Viktor bracing himself as he went with it. Vladimir's quick levitation charm stopped any hard meeting with the ground, and the dragon came to rest with a mighty thud as Viktor was gracefully lowered to his feet. He probably would have been fine without the intervention, but Vladimir was not in the mood for the lecture about catching falling brothers that would have occurred if Viktor had smacked his head on the way down.

Dusting himself off casually, Viktor held his hand out. A beautiful Firebolt broom rushed into his grip from where it had been hovering after he had jumped off. Vladimir walked over to the fallen dragon's head. A quick wave of his wand banished the ropes, and not for the first time was he thankful that his mother's contacts in the Ministry were willing to take the Trace off him for "the extenuating circumstances of his families livelihood," which was code for a large payoff. Bracing his foot against a bony, green forehead, Vladimir yanked his brother's sword out of the dragon's skull with a wet pop. Viktor waved his own wand casually to clean his broadsword before taking it from his brother and sheathing it.

"_Not bad. You didn't have to wait so long with the ropes, you know_," Viktor stated as he waved Ivanov and Baudin over. They would have gotten in the way of the kill, but there was plenty of harvesting they could help with. Even though the heart was the goal of the hunt, there were still thousands of galleons worth of resources leftover. Dragon blood was always in demand, as was dragon hide and dragon teeth for potions.

"_I was trying to prolong the adrenaline rush. We didn't travel all the way to Germany for a comfortable wand wood hunt; we came for a dragon." _Vladimir was determined to get what he wanted from this trip, and he wanted a challenge.

"_Understood, but we are expected in Scotland in three hours for the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament,"_ Viktor reminded his brother, who grimaced. Vladimir had absolutely no interest in going to Scotland or any part of the United Kingdom for that matter. He knew as soon as he stepped foot in the country life would get difficult. It was no secret to Vladimir that he was adopted, or who his real parents were. He knew that his presence would bring up questions, inquiries, and maybe even a custody battle if he were really unlucky. Unfortunately, the Bulgarian Ministry, and Karkaroff, was extremely insistent that he participates. They wanted to win, to shove Hogwarts, the British Ministry, and Albus Dumbledore off their high horses. They figured the Krum brothers were their best shot at victory, which was why they fought so hard in the negotiations to allow fourth, fifth, and sixth years a shot at entering with parent permission in addition to the of age students. Hogwarts had been surprisingly receptive of the proposal, probably because they had a certain Boy-Who-Lived in mind as Champion.

"_Don't remind _me," Vladimir mumbled before turning his attention back to the dragon as Ivanov and Baudin made their way over to start extracting the heart. Harvesting was a lengthy process that was only half finished when a few more of Grigor Krum's employees portkeyed to the kill sight. This was the signal that the Krum brothers were supposed to portkey home, change into their school robes, and then portkey onto the Durmstrang ship before it reached the Hogwarts grounds, which was warded against such entrances. It was a very tricky bit of magic to get a portkey to take someone to a moving destination, tricky and expensive, but Headmaster Karkaroff was prepared to spend any expense to walk in with one Krum on either side of him. He relished the prestige of having an international Quidditch sensation and a champion duelist as students. He never let anyone forget it.

A bit reluctantly, Viktor pulled a black feather quill out of the equipment bag. Vladimir scowled at it as if the quill had personally offended him in some way before reaching out to touch the tip of it. The brothers only had to wait a few more seconds before it whisked them away to Krum Manor.

They landed by one of their mother's favorite fountains- a stone mermaid pouring a jar of real water onto a stone grindylow. Pretending like he didn't almost fall into the fountain, Vladimir swept from the garden and into the house with Viktor right behind him. After taking a few minutes to shower away the scent of dragon corpse and to put on fresh uniforms, the brothers met in the sitting room as instructed and waited for their mother. Their trunks were already on the ship; they had placed them there themselves before leaving for Germany, barely having gotten permission to go from Karkaroff.

Iskra Krum entered the room shortly after them with a cold look on her face. She was very displeased with her sons, especially Vladimir, going to Hogwarts. No matter how much preparing she was doing for the oncoming conflict, and she was sure there would be a conflict, nothing seemed to stop that nagging maternal worry in the back of her mind.

"_You boys know what you must do to protect this family. I won't lecture you any more on the plan."_ Iskra and Grigor had relentlessly reminded the boys of what needed to be done to ensure the Krums could stay together. While both sons had been raised as strong, independent problem solvers their parents weren't going to leave anything to chance.

"_Viktor. You are strong and talented. If you are chosen, I know you will accomplish great things. Protect your brother and know that we are very proud of you."_ Viktor's impassive face morphed into one of determination at his mother's words. He would always protect his little brother.

"_Vladimir. No matter what he says, you cannot trust Albus Dumbledore. He's a manipulator and if he finds out the truth about your identity he will try to use you. You are smart, don't let him control you."_

"_I know, mother. He will get nothing from me," _Vladimir stated in a strong voice. He knew who the enemy was.

"_Vladimir."_ Iskra's tone suddenly became a lot gentler. "_If you see the Potter's there, I want you to remember that no matter what they say, we are your family. Your father, Viktor and I care for you; no one can take that away." _Hearing the worry in his mother's voice, Vladimir smiled at her reassuringly.

"_I know who my family is, and they are certainly not the Potters." _Viktor grunted in agreement, a small half-smile on his face. Iskra gave a little smile of her own.

"_Here's the portkey, it should go off in about half a minute. Be safe." _Iskra handed Vladimir a piece of parchment with the Durmstrang crest on it, and thirty seconds later both boys disappeared, leaving Iskra alone with her thoughts.


	4. Arrival

_All I can say is pay attention to the dates. This one jumps around a lot. Words in italics are still Bulgarian. I apologize for my lack of ability in writing accents; hopefully it'll get better over time with practice. Enjoy!_

**February 5, 1985**

Iskra Krum was exhausted. Her husband had been at a dueling competition in France for six days and she had to take on all of the responsibilities for the wand business. She was just now getting home at eleven at night, there had been an incident involving a herd of unicorns and a cursed yew tree.

Tiredly, Iskra went to go check on her sons, whom the house-elves had been caring for, before crawling into bed. Peering silently into Viktor's room, she saw her eldest sprawled across his mattress, sleeping soundly. Iskra allowed herself a moment to enjoy the view of her son, a spitting image of his father, so worry free and at peace. As Viktor grew older he was becoming less openly affectionate, incrementally adopting his father's aloof, gruff demeanor.

Slipping down the hallway to Vladimir's room, Iskra took a moment to really observe her youngest son who was sleeping silently. The fact that he wasn't her blood had never really bothered her; she loved him just as she loved Viktor. Even at the age of four Vladimir was displaying intelligence and talent, Iskra had no doubt that he would one day be quite powerful. She soaked up his image, he resembled neither her nor Grigor, and while the Krums weren't hiding the fact he was adopted from him, although they were quite vague on the subject with anyone outside their family, Iskra couldn't help but think that the difference might trouble Vladimir when he got older. She worried he might feel like an outsider in their family, maybe to the point of trying to contact his birth parents. Iskra scowled at the very idea, no one would take any of her boys; she wouldn't allow it.

Iskra was also a bit concerned that someone may recognize him as a Potter. The family of three had their faces splashed across every magical newspaper in Europe for months after Voldemort's destruction, the English paper had yet to stop an endless stream of stories about them, and Vladimr had such a stunning resemblance to James Potter, even as a toddler. While the adoption was iron clad by legal means and their fake story of acquiring him was almost impossible to disprove, the Krums weren't yet prepared to fight off an entire magical nation who would surely want the Potter family reunited and whole, were they to discover the truth. Iskra closed Vladimir's door abruptly, her swirling thoughts pushing sleep from her mind. She needed to speak with Grigor; she had an idea that could solve both problems to some extent, as well as give her a child that at least sort of resembles her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**February 8, 1985**

Grigor Krum exited his fireplace with a sigh. He hadn't been home in over a week and he was quite displeased to have arrived so late, midnight had long since passed. He was somewhat proud of himself, however, for claiming another title at the competition. Grigor strolled into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before joining his wife in bed, he was so tired he didn't even register the fact that he could have just ordered a house-elf to get it for him, only to be surprised by Iskra sitting at the counter in a silk night dress, tea in hand, apparently waiting for him.

"_Iskra, what are you doing up?" _It wasn't like Iskra to fall to sentimentality and wait up for him when practicality demanded she go to bed as usual.

"_Grigor, we need to talk," _Iskra stated simply, using the universal sentence for serious discussions.

"_It couldn't have waited until morning?"_ he asked. Iskra flushed a bit, the closest approximation of embarrassment he would ever likely receive.

"_Perhaps. But you're up and I'm up, so why not handle it now?" _she said resolutely.

"_Okay, talk," _he invited_. _Iskra took in a deep breath and motioned to the stool beside her. A house-elf was instructed to bring him tea and refill her cup. After getting settled, Iskra looked her husband right in the eye.

"_I want to use the Sanguis Ritual to blood adopt Vladimir."_ Grigor felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline. "_He looks too much like the Potters. If we ever run into anyone who knows them, or has even seen their picture a lot, he could be recognized and they'll try to take him from us. We aren't ready to face the entire British Ministry, or even Albus Dumbledore, in a custody battle, not unless Sergei gets promoted, and even then it'll be a challenge." _Iskra was speaking quickly; she'd obviously been sitting on this idea, dying to tell him.

"_Iskra, the official story is that he's adopted. We may not inform many people of the fact, and even less have actually seen him, but if we're ever discovered, how do we explain why an adopted boy looks so much like his parents? We can't say we did the Sanguis Ritual; it's illegal in most countries."_ Grigor almost rolled his eyes. He was by no means a 'Dark wizard' but he was prone to using Dark magic when it suited him. He felt the stamp of 'Dark' was applied too liberally to certain magics, and found the way a government could declare just any spell Dark if they wished it preposterous.

"_That has never stopped us before," _Iskra declared passionately. "_Besides, we can do the adjusted version developed by Licorus Black. It'll only change his appearance a bit, just enough to dispel the idea of him being a Potter." _The adjusted version of the Sanguis Ritual, developed in the early 1800's, allowed for a third parent to be added to a child's blood, instead of two new parents replacing the original pair, as in the original version. If the original ritual were used, Vladimir would no longer resemble the Potter's in the slightest, taking on Iskra and Grigor's features. The newer version, which was designed so that potential heirs could be adopted into a new family line if it were dying out while remaining part of the one they were born into, would change just a few of Vladimir's features to reflect the parent adopting him.

"_This really bothers you, doesn't it?" _Grigor questioned, a little surprised. It had been a long time since she'd gotten so worked up over anything. Iskra gave a sharp nod of her head. Grigor could see the merits of the plan, the resemblance between his son and James Potter was a consistent thorn in his side, and if the ritual worked out as it should, they would be able to stick to their original claims that he was adopted. Grigor nodded his head slowly.

"_Okay. We'll do it. It'll take a few weeks to gather supplies discretely; we can't let anyone know what we're planning, but if this is what you want, we'll do it."_ Iskra shot him a grateful, if small, smile. "_Which of us should adopt him, then?"_

"_I think it should be me. If he looks too much like you and Viktor, it might seem more suspicious than if he resembles me a bit," _Iskra replied promptly. Grigor almost smiled amusedly. He'd had an inkling that Iskra was jealous of the resemblance between him and Viktor, as if he somehow had a greater claim on Viktor due to looks alone. She wanted one of her sons to carry a piece of her for all to see, and Grigor would agree to almost anything for the happiness of his family.

"_That makes sense. I shall start gathering supplies as soon as possible. Now lets go to bed, I'm exhausted."_ He led his wife up the stairs, thinking of the favors he might have to call in to accomplish their latest goal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**March 1, 1985**

Grigor perused the details of the altered Sanguis Ritual one final time. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get a copy of the ritual from Pollux Black, and even more to buy his silence. A bit of illegal Basilisk venom changing hands helped tremendously on that front. Sighing as he went over the intricate wand movements again, he decided he was prepared as he was ever going to be.

Grigor inspected his back garden to make sure everything was in place. A ring of candles was lit in a perfect circle. Surrounding the circle of candles was a perfect circle of runes, old and rare, burnt into the grass. He pulled a corked vial out of his pocket and looked at the clear liquid within it. A firm smacking sound from behind him signified his wife striding from the back door, her black cloak billowing in the night air, with Vladimir in her arms. His eyes were drooping as it was long past his bedtime, but the ritual could only be preformed at night. Iskra walked straight to her husband, who immediately put a hand on his sons face to get his attention.

_"Vladimir. You remember what your mother and I told you earlier today, yes? You drink this potion and when you wake up you will look a little different, more like your mother. Is that still okay?" _They had asked if Vladimir was okay with this earlier today, but Grigor had been sure then, as he was now, of what his sons answer would be.

"_Yes, I wanna look like Mama_," his reply was the very definition of childhood naivety, of complete trust in one's parent; it made Grigor smile. He handed the vial of liquid to his wife and took Vladimir into his arms. Iskra uncorked the vial and then pulled a solid silver dagger, a ritual knife, from the sheath at her side. She pricked her figure quickly and put three drops of her blood into the potion. The blood swirled in the mixture for a moment before turning it a burgundy color. She handed the vial back to Grigor, who put it to Vladimir's lips. He opened his mouth obediently and Grigor poured the potion in. It only took a few seconds for Vladimir's eyes to flutter shut and his breath to slow into an even rhythm.

Grigor stepped into the circle of candles and laid Vladimir down in the center, kissing his forehead before walking back out. Pulling out his wand, he started chanting the long and old incantation for blood adoption while his wrist moved his wand in precise, staccato movements. Meanwhile, Iskra had taken the dagger and slid it across the palm of her left hand, causing a steady flow of blood without so much as a wince or a grimace. She kneeled down by the runic circle and started tracing each burn with her own blood. Grigor continued chanting until Iskra had finished tracing every ruin in the circle. At the very moment she finished the candles blew themselves out all at once, leaving the family in darkness.

It only took a few seconds for Grigor and Iskra to light their wands, but it was still too late to witness their son's transformation. Sometime between the candles dying and two whispers of the word lumos; Vladimir Krum had changed. Once raven black hair had lightened to a dark brown, but still stood up on end. His skin had lightened as well, taking after Iskra's snowy parlor. His facial features had sharpened a bit; he'd gained his mother's high cheekbones and pointed chin- aristocratic features that her Pureblood family was known for. Iskra was so incredibly pleased by the result that when she picked her son up and he opened his eyes sleepily, she didn't even mind that Lily Potter's emerald orbs were still the ones looking up at her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**October 30, 1994**

Albus Dumbledore always wins. He won in his fight against Grindelwald, he won his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and he temporarily won the war against Tom Riddle. So when it was time to convince the other Headmaster, Headmistress and the Ministry that the Triwizard Tournament should be held at Hogwarts that year, instead of at Beauxbatons whose turn it was in the rotation, he knew he'd win that fight too.

Dumbledore reveled in his triumph as he stood in front of Hogwarts' main doors surrounded by his best and brightest students and teachers. His eyes twinkled as they landed on the crown jewel of his student body: Thomas Potter. Although (mostly) sincere in his intentions of fostering international cooperation with the Tournament, Dumbledore was quite aware that half the point of the event was for three of Europe's best schools to show off, and he couldn't help but think of the Potter boy as the ace up his sleeve when it came to powerful pupils. After all, he highly doubted either of the other schools would have any students with the defeat of a Dark Lord under their belt.

Humming lightly to himself as the students chatted all around him, Dumbledore moved his focus to the Auror delegation standing to the right of his students. Amongst the group of ten stood James Potter and Sirius Black; both fervent volunteers for this particular assignment. The Aurors had been Dumbledore's idea; he wanted to give the impression of safety, competence, and strength to the visitors. A select group of Britain's Finest was surely a good step toward that image. Dumbledore noticed that James seemed particularly disheartened, but almost immediately dismissed the thought. James always got moody around Halloween, as did Lily. It was of no consequence, so Dumbledore deemed it unimportant and continued to look around and hum Beethoven's fifth symphony. Dumbledore was of the particular opinion that Ludwig van Beethoven was the greatest of the Squib composers.

Dumbledore's gaze was pulled to Lily Potter and Severus Snape speaking quietly to each other. Lily was at Hogwarts for the year to earn her second Mastery in Potions (her first was naturally in Charms) under Severus' tutelage, much to James' chagrin. Although he wouldn't ever admit it, not even under threat of the Cruciatus Curse, Dumbledore found the dynamic between the three quite entertaining; sort of like a Muggle soap opera.

The shriek of a first year drew his attention; it would seem Beauxbatons had arrived. Dumbledore was grudgingly impressed by their chosen transport. Abraxan's certainly weren't cheap, and the large winged horses radiated grace, power, and style. The carriage they pulled behind them, the size of a house and powder blue, landed smoothly on the ground for all of Hogwarts to see. The showing off had officially commenced.

A student hopped out of the carriage, his powder blue uniform matched perfectly, and lowered a set of three golden steps. A glossy black high heel stepped through; the only warning as Olympe Maxime strode out of her carriage. Two-dozen more students slipped out gracefully behind her in two lines, but their stunningly large Headmistress eclipsed them all. Dumbledore could hear the shocked murmurs of his own students, some rather loud and obnoxious, but he ignored them and walked up to the handsome woman who towered over him. With a bright smile, Dumbledore took Madam Maxime's heavily jeweled hand and kissed the back of it.

"Welcome, Madam Maxime, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is an honor for Hogwarts to host the students of Beauxbatons this year." Dumbledore was more than aware that a little flattery with Olympe, a woman ravaged by insecurities due to her giant heritage, would go a long away. As expected, Maxime seemed to brighten.

"Zank you, Professor Dumbly-door. My students and I are pleased to be 'ere." Dumbledore knew she wasn't being genuine, she was obviously still bitter over the Tournament being held at Hogwarts instead of her school, but he took the pleasantry for what it was. There was simply no other option. Dumbledore knew something terrible was on the horizon and he refused to be away from his school for a year when the Balance was turning toward the Dark. He needed to be here to influence the outcome to his favor, whatever that outcome may be.

Noticing the shivering of the Beauxbatons students, clothed only in silk uniforms, Dumbledore gestured to the doors. "Perhaps you and your students would like to adjourn to the Great Hall before the feast begins. Professor Karkaroff should arrive with the Durmstrang group any minute." The neat line of students behind Maxime looked at their Headmistress hopefully.

"What of ze Abraxans?" Madam Maxime questioned, much to her pupil's obvious disappointment.

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Hagrid, shall be here in a few minutes to service them," Dumbledore assured. Maxime looked doubtful.

"Zey are quite strong. Are you sure 'e can 'andle it?" she asked. Dumbledore could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I assure you, they will be well taken care of," he soothed. Madam Maxime still seemed troubled but the cold October air was enough to make her drop the discussion.

"Tell zis Professor 'Agrid zat zey drink only single-malt whiskey," she finally agreed.

"It shall be done," Dumbledore replied gallantly, his old Gryffindor chivalry making an appearance. With that matter handled, Madam Maxime led her students into the school; they remained graceful despite the chill. It was only seconds later that a disturbance in the Black Lake drew everyone's attention.

A whirlpool had appeared, small at first but growing larger every second. A dark piece of wood emerged from the water, getting steadily longer. With a great sucking sound, the wood reveled itself to be the mast of a ghostly ship. The portholes glowed faintly yellow as the ship bobbed for a moment, sending large waves to the shore as it settled in the water. The splash of an anchor being released was followed up with a gangplank being lowered.

Much like the Beauxbatons students, the Durmstrang delegation approached in two orderly lines lead by their Headmaster. From a distance, every student appeared large and burly. A few first and second years were sporting round eyes, clearly intimidated by what they perceived to be a school of musclemen. As the Durmstrang group drew nearer, it become obvious that this was not the case. Upon closer inspection it was reveled that every student was wearing a large fur coat and hat as part of their uniform. Anyone paying particular attention would even have noticed a few girls among the crowd of thirty students.

Igor Karkaroff marched up to the school with two chosen students to his right and left. Dressed also in fur, silver to match his goatee, Karkaroff cut an imposing figure.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore shook hands with the man as their students waited behind them. Formal pleasantries meant a lot less to Igor Karkaroff then they did to Olympe Maxime, and Dumbledore was eager to get everyone gathered into the Great Hall. The introductions would be short and sweet.

"It is good to be here, Professor Dumbledore. Shall ve go in?" Karkaroff smiled, revealing his yellowing teeth. Dumbledore briefly appreciated his directness, if not his oral hygiene.

"Certainly, right this way." The two Headmasters lead their students and staff into the school. Dumbledore noticed how the two boys on either side of Karkaroff kept close to him, almost as though they were instructed to remain there. Igor noticed Albus' attention and grinned, reminding all who saw him of a particularly vindictive shark.

"May I introduce you to two of my best students; this is Viktor and Vladimir Krum." Even a deaf man would have been able to hear the smugness in Karkaroff's voice and Dumbledore tried not to grimace. He knew about the Krum family, Grigor Krum had funded more than a few campaigns to have him removed from the International Confederation of Wizards to pave the way for more flexible policies on magical creature hunting. He was also aware of the boys' accomplishments. Viktor Krum was an internationally famous Quidditch star, and Vladimir was one of the top ranked underage duelists in the world. He had never met either of them, but their reputations preceded them. He really observed them for a moment and was surprised to see how different they looked for brothers. Viktor had black eyes and curved features with a prominent nose. His brother, Vladimir, had familiar green eyes and a more delicate, pointed face. He couldn't see the hair on either of them, the fur hats prevented that, but Dumbledore had a feeling it wouldn't be the same color. They nodded sharply at Dumbledore, before following the rest of their classmates to the Slytherin table as they all entered the Great Hall. Dumbledore strode up to the front table with Karkaroff, feeling uneasy. There was something disturbingly familiar about Vladimir Krum.


	5. Debt

_The Tournament is finally beginning! Italics are Russian in this chapter, just saying. Enjoy!_

**October 30, 1994**

The Great Hall was crowded, filled to the brim with students from the three schools. The Durmstrang delegation sat themselves down at the Slytherin table under Professor Karkaroff's orders. Vladimir sat between his brother and his best friend, Wilhelm Richter, a German pureblood. They were across from a pale, platinum blonde Hogwarts student with a pointed face and the two hulking brutes on either side of him, reminding Vladimir strongly of a security detail. The blonde boy held out his hand to Viktor. "My names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe and Goyle," he gestured vaguely to the boys on either side of him, who nodded dimly.

Viktor, grudgingly, shook the hand, years of society training by their mother floating to the surface, but not without a fight from Viktor's dour attitude. "Viktor Krum. This is my brother: Vladimir." Viktor couldn't have sounded terser. Vladimir shook hands as well. There was no need to make an enemy so early in the game by refusing. Draco may even come in handy later. It wouldn't hurt to have someone on the inside. Vladimir gave Crabbe and Goyle a quick nod in greeting, which they replied to with a grunt each. Luckily, the magical appearance of food seemed to end the conversation. When plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood and began talking.

Vladimir took this opportunity to evaluate the so-called most powerful wizard in Britain. Tall with a long beard and flamboyant robes, he looked more like a wizard from a Muggle fairytale than a respectable Headmaster. Vladimir was decidedly unimpressed as the aged wizard's words washed over him. He was nattering on about eternal glory and riches while the Durmstrang students tuned him out to examine the golden chalices and enchanted ceiling. Karkaroff had informed them of the Tournament months ago, having them study and train ahead of time, despite doing so being against the rules.

Wilhelm leaned closer to Vladimir. "_It's a bit excessive, don't you think?" _he whispered in Russian, nodding to a golden chalice. Durmstrang sent letters to the strongest young wizards and witches all across Europe, England and France being off limits, and had a collective student body from many nations who spoke many languages. Naturally, there had to be one universal language to teach in, and since the school had more Russian students than any other, it was decided a few hundred years ago that every class would be taught in Russian, before that it had been Latin. If the student didn't speak Russian, they had better learn quickly or be pretty adept at translation charms. Vladimir and Viktor had the advantage of having a Russian mother to teach them the language from childhood.

"_I'm not surprised, although I imagine that Beauxbatons would be even worse,"_ Vladimir replied, shooting a look at the still shivering students in blue, silk uniforms. Wilhelm nodded in avid agreement as Dumbledore's speech drew to a close. A raggedy looking man in a frayed suit carried a jewel encrusted wooden box to the front of the room, where Dumbledore tapped it with his wand. It creaked open in the complete silence of the Hall, all attention on the old wizard. He pulled out an ancient wooden cup filled to the brim with intense blue flames.

"I present the Tournaments impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore set the Goblet on top of the chest. "You have twenty-four hours to enter your name, the Goblet will be placed in the entrance hall, and the selection will be at tomorrow night's Halloween feast. Let me remind you that this competition is not for the faint of heart. There will be very real danger for the chosen Champions. As a precaution, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet. If you are one of those between the ages of fourteen and sixteen with the appropriate paper work filled out, give your name to your Headmaster or a teacher to enter for you. I believe it's now time for bed. Good night to you all!"

The room went from dead silent to a cacophony in seconds. The Durmstrang students stood as a group and followed Karkaroff out of the Great Hall. Vladimir ignored all the looks the students seemed to be giving his brother, and the ones he was receiving as well. While not nearly as glamorous as being a Quidditch star, practically being the face of underage dueling did seem to turn heads. The Durmstrang students swept outside and started to trek toward the ship in a mass of fur and robes instead of the two straight lines from earlier. There was no one watching now.

Vladimir fell into step with one of the delegations few girls: Amalie Foss. Just looking at her, some would wonder why the sixteen year old would be brought to compete in a dangerous tournament ever. The Norwegian witch was stunningly pale, with white blonde hair and black eyes. She was extremely skinny and fragile looking, as if someone breathing on her would be enough to knock her over. What these observers didn't know was that she was a potions prodigy with an eidetic memory. If chosen, she would outwit her opponents rather than take them on by force. None of this was of importance to Vladimir at the moment. He was more interested in the fact that Amalie came from a family of pureblood fanatics. Between her memory and her family's zealous lessons in pureblood history, Foss could quite possibly name every pureblood and half-blood alive and write six feet of parchment on their family history. Considering his etiquette at the feast and his nontraditional name, Vladimir knew the Malfoy kid had to be at least a half-blood.

"_Amalie, how are you these days?"_ Vladimir asked pleasantly, a grin that he was positive was charming fit firmly on his face. Amalie lifted a single pale eyebrow in derision. Vladimir smiled even wider in response. Amalie rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh, although Vladimir could swear he saw her lips twitching into the tinniest of smiles.

"_What do you want, Krum?" _she asked, straight to the point.

"_What makes you think that I want anything more than to have a pleasant conversation with one of my schoolmates?"_ Vladimir asked innocently. Amalie snorted at that, but decided to play along.

"_Let's call it woman's intuition,"_ she said dryly.

"_My dearest Amalie, you wound me. But if you insist… what do you know about an Englishman named Draco Malfoy?" _Vladimir asked, finally getting to the point. If Vladimir was going to use the boy as an inside source, he'd need to know a bit about him, if only to ensure that the information could be relied upon and that he wasn't working with a complete idiot. Amalie seemed to space out for a moment, muttering the name under her breath. After a full minute she seemed to come back to herself.

"_He's the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. The Malfoy family came to England during the Norman Conquest in1066. Since then they have gained excessive wealth and prestige. Draco is the only son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. Although the family as a whole always seemed to teeter back and forth, the last few generations have been Dark. Lucius was accused of being one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, but claimed to be under the Imperious Curse at the time, and escaped a prison sentence. He's now a big player in the British Ministry of Magic. Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather, died last year of dragon pox. While he didn't outwardly support Voldemort, there are rumors that he did some financial backing of his cause. The Malfoy family is a large advocate for blood purity."_

"_Thank you, Amalie," _Vladimir said thoughtfully. It sounded like the boy came from rich, intelligent, and Dark stock. There was bound to be piles of blackmail available if it ever became necessary. Vladimir would have to be careful not to reveal too much, however, political families like the Malfoys stabbed people in the back like it was a hobby.

"_Don't thank me too fast. Nothing is without a price," _Amalie Foss said casually as they approached the ship. This time it was Vladimir who raised an eyebrow.

"_What cost?"_ he asked uneasily; nothing grinded on his nerves like owing someone something.

"_I guess you'll find out soon, won't you?"_ she said before spinning to face him and grabbing his right hand. With a quick jerk, she forcibly shook their hands and Vladimir felt the sharp tingle of magic race up his arm. He snatched his hand back and gave her an unimpressed glare. Magical Debts were an old pureblood tradition that was rarely used anymore. They were like a softer version of an Unbreakable Vow, except the parameters didn't need to be spelled out initially, and there was no risk of loosing your magic or dying. Instead, the one indebted would experience huge fits of compulsion to accomplish the task the debt collector sets. It couldn't make someone do something they would completely abhor, like kill a family member, but the desire would be overwhelming. Failure to complete the set task would cause debilitating headaches for days after the compulsion was fought off. He hated the little bastards.

"_Was that really necessary?"_ Vladimir grumbled irritably. Amalie smiled back sweetly, mocking him.

"_My dearest Vladimir, you wound me. Would I ever do anything unnecessarily? "_ With a final smirk she walked up the gangplank and headed for her room. Vladimir glared at her retreating figure.

"_Do you think she'd say yes if I asked her out?"_ Wilhelm asked as he came to stand next to Vladimir, who promptly turned his glare onto his best friend.

"_Maybe in exchange for your immortal soul,"_ Vladimir groused before stomping off for the cabin he shared with Viktor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger considered herself a very patient person. That being said, if she heard the phrase 'I'm the Boy-Who-Lived' one more time someone was getting hexed. If she was being completely honest, she could concede that Thomas Potter was more-or-less a good person. He had never judged her because of her blood status like certain ferrets she could mention, and he'd defended more than one first year from an older Slytherin picking on them. That being said, he also had the hugest ego she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He couldn't go more than five minutes without mentioning how powerful he was, citing his defeat of Voldemort as proof. Hermione found it absolutely maddening as she walked behind his group of friends to Gryffindor Tower.

"The Goblet has to pick me, I mean, come on, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. Who else is it going to pick? Malfoy? Please." Thomas laughed with his friends: Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan.

"The only way that git could get chosen would be if his father bought the Goblet and only put Malfoy's name in it," Ron added, chuckling. Nothing put him in a better mood than making fun of Malfoy.

"Did you see the way he was sucking up to the Krum brothers?" Seamus asked. Ron's good mood immediately seemed to melt away.

"I bet they could see right through him," he muttered.

"Do you think one of the Krum brothers will be the Durmstrang Champion? I should probably start evaluating my competition, afterall," Potter said smugly. Hermione rolled her eyes so powerfully she was surprised they didn't get stuck. She couldn't take it anymore.

"You know there's a chance the Goblet won't choose you, right? Especially since there are fifth, sixth, and seventh years entering their names." The three boys whipped around to look at her, and Thomas narrowed his eyes. Just because he had never belittled her for her blood didn't mean they got on.

"Yeah, but did any of them destroy a Dark Lord at the age of one? Granger, you might as well accept me as your Champion now, I'm the only logical choice," Potter bragged. Seamus was nodding his head enthusiastically, but Ron looked a little put out. Hermione knew that Ron and his brothers were planning on submitting their names as well.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow, won't we" Hermione said imperiously as she passed the boys on her way to the common room. She really couldn't stand Thomas Potter.


	6. Selection

_Italics are in Bulgarian again. Enjoy!_

**October 31, 1994**

The entrance hall was filled with Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students when Viktor arrived with the rest of the Durmstrang contenders. He was standing to Karkaroff's right again, feeling ridiculously like a trophy wife. In a way, he and his brother were trophies to their Headmaster; they were something the other schools didn't have: a Quidditch star and a dueling champion. The other institutions had prizes of their own, of course. Madam Maxime could talk for hours about all of the well known artists who have walked the halls of Beauxbatons Academy, and Hogwarts had it's precious Boy-Who-Lived. Viktor almost chuckled at that thought. His parents had been quite open about Vladimir's origins to both boys, and Viktor could only imagine Karkaroff's shock if he learned he was also the Headmaster of the real Boy-Who-Lived.

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Viktor stepped over the Age Line with the other of age students. He looked at his piece of parchment for a moment, his spikey cursive staring back at him, before dropping it into the flames. The blue fire flashed red for a moment as the Goblet emitted sparks. There was a round of applause from the students loitering around the room. The other Durmstrang students simply nodded at Viktor respectfully. Briefly, Viktor noticed one other girl wasn't clapping. She had bushy hair, a pretty face and was wearing Hogwarts robes. He shifted his gaze and moved to stand next to his brother.

Vladimir handed Karkaroff his piece of parchment, followed by Wilhelm Richter and Amalie Foss, who shot Vladimir a smug look. Vladimir scowled back, and Viktor wondered briefly over the new friction between the two students who traditionally got along. He decided to let it go; if it was important, Vladimir would tell him in due time. After gathering the names of all his underage students, Karkaroff stepped up to the Goblet and submitted them one by one, each entry gaining it's own shower of sparks.

As one, the entire Durmstrang group left the hall, showing unshakeable school unity. For the time being, every student was an ally, putting personal issues aside. Viktor's eyes briefly flickered to Emil Poliakoff, who had disliked Viktor since their first year together. Viktor was almost positive the dislike was from jealously. Viktor was a talented wizard from a talented family, rich, pureblooded, famous, and the apple of Karkaroff's unsettling eye. It's not hard to imagine why someone like Poliakoff, hated by Karkaroff and not amazingly talented at any one thing, would be jealous of him. It didn't matter now though, everyone was working toward a common goal, prove Durmstrang is better than the other schools; prove that it's more than a debauched haven for the Dark Arts.

Upon returning to the ship, the Krum brothers slipped into their shared room below deck. The room was comfortable if undecorated. Two full-sized beds were across from each other on different sides of the room, two oak dressers sat on the far wall, and each boy had a matching bedside table. The floors were a dark wood that matched the hull. Viktor watched his brother flop onto his bed in such an undignified manner he almost looked over his shoulder to see if their mother would appear and scold Vladimir for his lack of decorum.

"_Well, glad that's over," _Vladimir commented in Bulgarian as he watched Viktor sit on his bed in a much more reserved manner.

_"If one of us gets picked it's far from over," _Viktor stated grumpily. While normally he would have been excited at a possibility for a challenge, being selected would mean a forced year off from Quidditch, which didn't make the elder Krum happy at all. _"Not to mention we need to focus on a far more important task than the Tournament could possibly provide."_

_"Of course. I haven't forgotten the reason for coming here; for risking exposure."_ Vladimir sat up and looked Viktor right in the eye, a serious expression on his face. _"We're here to protect the family. To protect our father." _

Viktor nodded in response. _"If one of us get's picked, the other shall have to take the lead on that. We need to find him before the Ministry does so they can't question him."_

Vladimir gave a half smile and a nonchalant wave of his hand. _"Don't worry. We've been hunting things since we could walk. Killing them too. Peter Pettigrew doesn't stand a chance."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

James Potter stood near the doors to the Great Hall as streams of students poured into the room, chattering excitedly in different languages. If he didn't have his 'Auror face' on, he might have smiled in the wake of their infectious excitement. As it was, he was on duty. He scanned the tables with roving eyes, searching for anything suspicious. His eyes landed briefly on his son at the Gryffindor table, laughing with his friends. He pulled his eyes away and frowned. There should have been two Potter boys in the Great Hall causing mischief or just hanging out. A day didn't go by that James didn't think of Harry, but the sting of his memory was always acute on Halloween. Thirteen years ago he failed as an Auror, a husband, and a father, and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

James' eyes flicked up to the staff table where Lily was sitting next to Severus Snape. She had taken over a few of his classes as a step in getting her Mastery and was considered part-time staff. All her students loved her; especially considering the alternative was the bat of the dungeons. She looked sick, pale and glassy eyed. Halloween hit her just as hard, maybe even harder than James. He planned to join her in her rooms tonight once his shift was over so they could comfort each other, just like they did every year.

James' attentive gaze swept over the Slytherin table, lingering on Viktor Krum. He and Thomas had gone to the World Cup this summer with the Weasleys and James had been absolutely blown away by the young mans skill. His eyes briefly swept over the Malfoy heir across from Krum. Thomas and Draco had never gotten along, especially considering Thomas' close friendship with the Weasley kids and the Weasley-Malfoy blood feud.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention and waved his wand to extinguish most of the candles in the Hall, making the Goblet of Fire shine brightly in the half darkness. "When the Champion's names are called, will you please stand up, receive your name, and walk past the staff table and through that door." Dumbledore gestured to a wooden door behind Hagrid, who sat at the end of the table. Before Dumbledore could say anymore the Goblet, which had been moved into the Great Hall again and stood on the Sorting Hat's stool in front of everyone, turned a brilliant ruby color. A tongue of red flame shot high into the air releasing a scrap of parchment. Dumbledore caught the piece of paper dexterously. "The Champion for the Durstrang Institute shall be… Vladimir Krum!"

The Great Hall burst into thunderous applause, most people recognizing the dueler's name. The normally stoic Durmstrang delegation stood up in their excitement, so it wasn't immediately obvious which one was Vladimir. Although he had heard the name before, James had never seen the dueling prodigy for himself. A head of unruly dark brown hair, which reminded James of his own wild locks, broke away from the group and headed for Dumbledore. James continued to look at the back of the Durmstrang Champion's head as he shook hands with Dumbledore and turned to walk towards the door. James caught a sharp facial profile as he made his way from the still applauding crowd.

"Bravo Vladimir!" Karkaroff shouted passionately. Reflexively, Vladimir's head turned towards his Headmaster, his gaze scanning past James for just a moment. That was long enough for James to get a flash of eyes he knew better than his own. Emerald green and almond shaped, James had only ever seen two people with eyes like that: his wife, and Harry. Without fifteen years of Auror experience behind him, he very well might have fallen on his arse in shock. Vladimir turned back toward the door just as he passed Lily, and he watched the color drain out of her already pale face. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost, and frantically tried to make eye contact with James, who knew he didn't look much better.

James was so distracted by those eyes and the possible repercussions of seeing them that he barely noticed the Beauxbaton's Champion being chosen ("The Champion for Beauxbaton's Academy of Magic is… Fleur Delacour!") and barely brought himself around to listening to the Hogwarts announcement. Although he had allowed Thomas to put his name in, he sincerely hoped he wasn't going to be picked. The loss of Harry had put a cautious streak of paranoia in him. If Sirius hadn't talked him into it and the Weasleys hadn't allowed Ron to put his name in, James doubted he would have signed the permission slip.

A third streak of red released the final piece of parchment. "The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is… Cedric Diggory!" James sigh of relief was drowned out by the overwhelming reaction of the Hufflepuff table. The House was often overlooked and rarely won any type of honor, to have the Hogwarts Champion come from their House was a huge achievement, which anyone could garner from the way they were cheering, screaming, clapping, and stomping their feet. Cedric beamed in humble excitement as he retrieved his name from Dumbledore, who was smiling widely himself.

"Well! It would seem we have our three Champions! Now that they have been selected-" Dumbledore was cut off by the Goblet of Fire, which was turning red and shooting sparks again. James pulled out his wand, preparing for what could possibly be a dangerous situation. A flame jumped from the Goblet for a fourth time, releasing one more piece of parchment that Dumbledore caught and stared at for a moment in the shocked silence of the Hall. "… Thomas Potter." James felt his stomach drop.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Vladimir Krum wasn't sure if he should be excited or irritated that he was chosen. On one hand, he wouldn't be allowed to duel officially until the Tournament was over, and it would be a distraction from the hunt for Peter Pettigrew. On the other, it could be interesting. He had a craving for adrenalin that the fight with the Welsh Green yesterday had done nothing to satiate it. He stood by the fireplace of the room he'd been directed too, watching the flames dance much like they had in the Goblet. He looked over his shoulder briefly when a beautiful girl in the Beauxbatons uniform walked in. They exchanged greetings briefly, and Vladimir returned his gaze to the fire, thinking the name Fleur suited her well.

He pulled his gaze away permanently when the Hogwarts Champion walked in and introduced himself. Classically good looking with a bright smile on his face, Cedric Diggory didn't look at all intimidating. Vladimir wasn't one to underestimate opponents, however, and he noticed Diggory's athletic frame and Fleur's intelligent, accessing gaze. The Goblet had chosen them for a reason, after all. They were exchanging pleasantries when the door opened for a fourth time.

"Do zey want us back in ze 'All?" Fleur questioned, seeing no other reason for Thomas Potter to be standing, pale and fidgeting, in the room with them. Vladimir narrowed his eyes at the other fourteen year old. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Err…" Potter replied oh so eloquently. His response was interrupted as a crowd of adults rushed into the room. Karkaroff strode in looking absolutely livid and stood resolutely next to Vladimir, putting a hand on his shoulder and glaring at the room at large. Madam Maxime acted similarly, standing next to a confused Fleur while ducking her head to avoid the chandelier. Dumbledore walked past Cedric and grabbed Thomas by the arms as three of his professors, a tall woman with a strict face, a younger man with greasy hair all in black, and a scarred man with a magical electric blue eye, entered the room. The arrival of James and Lily Potter and the two representatives from the Brithish Ministry, Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, enlarged the group.

"Thomas! Did you find a way to trick the Goblet?" Dumbledore's questions had everyone's attention.

"N-no, Professor. I entered like everyone else," Thomas replied nervously.

"Did you Confund it? Did you have someone else do it for you?" Dumbledore persisted.

"No," Thomas repeated, looking very pale.

"Well 'e iz lying, of course," Madam Maxime accused angrily. Fleur, who had picked up on what was happening, was frowning and nodding in agreement.

"Don't call my son a liar. If he said he didn't do it, he didn't do it," James Potter said strongly, going to stand next to Thomas. Vladimir noticed the way James' eyes kept straying to him, and felt a knot of tension form in his stomach. Looks like the real challenge had just begun.

"We can not let zis child compete," Fleur said, defending her Headmistress. Vladimir felt vaguely insulted; Potter was his age, after all.

"I don't remember reading anywhere that the host school gets two Champions," Karkaroff said icily. "After all the negotiations and the compromises you are going to pull this?"

"No one is pulling anything," Dumbledore said placatingly.

"Zat is correct, because 'e won't be competing, no?" Madam Maxime returned.

"He has to compete," stated the subdued tones of Barty Crouch, looking pale and sickly with bags under his eyes. "The Goblet of Fire is a binding magical contract. If his name came out, he has no choice." Lily Potter looked ready to faint.

"Well, Barty knows the rules by heart. Looks like theirs nothing to do but let him compete as the fourth Champion," Ludo Bagman said gleefully. He was the only one who seemed even a little bit happy.

"Zen we shall resubmit our student's names until everyone 'as two competitors," Maxime replied angrily.

"It can't be done. The Goblet has gone out, it won't reignite until the next Tournament," Mr. Crouch said tiredly.

"Vhich Durmstrang vill not be competing in!" Karkaroff all but snarled, his accent shinning through in his rage.

"Igor, there's no need to-" Dumbledore tried unsuccessfully to calm the other Headmaster.

"There is a need if your student insists on cheating," Karkaroff cut him off.

"The Goblet of Fire is an extremely powerful magical object. It would have taken powerful and complicated magic to influence it, magic well beyond the capabilities of a fourteen year old," the man with the magical eye growled.

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this, Moody," the accusation in Karkaroff's voice could have been heard by a deaf person.

"It was once my job to think as Dark wizards do, Karkaroff, in case you have forgotten," Moody replied. Karkaroff looked equal parts furious and nervous, a strange expression for anyone to wear.

"If I may interject," the silky voice of the greasy haired professor in black cut through the tension like a blade, "Potter is by no means above less than honest means to get what he wants. However, he also lacks any sort of advanced skill in which to trick the Goblet. This is a dangerous Tournament, perhaps someone ensured his name would be picked hoping Potter might be injured or killed."

James Potter looked as if he was going to yell at the professor, but held back, probably because the less than flattering words insinuated his son's innocence. Thomas Potter looked like he was going to be sick at the thought that someone was trying to kill him via death tournament. Vladimir was done listening to all of this nonsense.

"Enough! I don't care if he was entered to be killed or if he tricked the Goblet for glory. It does not matter. We will let the competition speak for itself. The best of us shall succeed, the worst shall be humiliated." Vladimir looked directly into Thomas' eyes on the word 'humiliated.' The room descended into an uneasy silence for a few seconds after his declaration. Mr. Crouch broke it.

"Well then, I believe it is time to inform you of the First Task. It's meant to test your daring, so I won't be telling you what it is, per say. It shall take place on November twenty-fourth, you will be armed only with your wands, and you may not ask for nor receive help from your teachers. You will learn of the second task after the completion of the first, and because of the time consuming nature of the Tournament, you shall all be excused from end of year exams. I believe that is all."

Vladimir didn't wait for anyone else to speak, especially considering Lily Potter had her eyes glued to him. He swept out of the room with Karkaroff on his heels. A few feet behind them were Madam Maxime and Fleur. Their rapid fire French echoed throughout the empty Great Hall as the four foreigners left Hogwarts in a tangible cloud of irritation.


	7. Meetings

_This is kind of a filler chapter to get the ball rolling and establish some relationships, but the First Task is fast approaching and the hunt is on for Pettigrew. Enjoy!_

**November 4, 1994**

Vladimir decided, after several boring days on the ship, that he might as well start studying for the Tournament. The parameters for the First Task were excruciatingly vague, so until Karkaroff decided to cheat for him, which Vladimir could see coming from a mile away, he decided to brush up on a handful of subjects. Walking casually around the Hogwarts library, Vladimir decided to start his studies with magical creatures. He deftly picked up a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and headed for a table in a secluded corner of the library.

Once seated, he pulled out some parchment and ink and started perusing the book, reveling in the solitude. His brother was out doing drills on the Quidditch pitch, with a crowd of squealing girls, and a few guys, in the stands watching. Wilhelm had originally offered to help Vladimir study, but was quickly distracted by Amalie Foss traveling to the dungeons with Pavel Turchin. That morning, Headmaster Karkaroff had informed his students that they were free to audit any of the Hogwarts classes, an invitation extended by Dumbledore. Amalie had immediately swept out of the ship and headed straight for the school, determined to find directions to the potions labs. Pavel Turchin, an attractive Russian student and the second best potioneer at Durmstrang, had been quick to follow. As soon as he saw the spark of jealousy in Wilhelm's eyes, Vladimir knew he'd lost his friend for the day, and was secretly quite glad for the opportunity to be alone. He was so glad, in fact, that he failed to mention the rumors that Pavel may… play for the other Quidditch team.

Vladimir was finishing up a chapter on phoenixes when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to see a girl with wild hair and a large stack of books in her arms eyeing his table. She looked vaguely annoyed as she turned away, looking around the room.

"Let me guess, I am at your usual table," he called out quietly, letting a small smirk curl his lips. The girl turned back to him quickly, looking a little embarrassed for being caught envying a table.

"Well, yes, but it's no problem, I'll find another one," she said politely, her voice a bit strained. Vladimir figured it was due to the heavy tomes weighing her down. With casual indifference Vladimir kicked out the empty chair across from him.

"You can join me, if you want," he offered, going back to his book. It was of no importance to him if she joined him or not.

The girl seemed to argue with herself for minute before sitting down quietly at 'her' table, finally releasing her considerable burden. Vladimir resisted another smirk. The girl was such a creature of habit that she'd rather sit in uncomfortable silence with a stranger than at a different table.

"Thank you for letting me sit here. It's quieter than the rest of library; I concentrate better without the noise. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way." Hermione held out her hand, and Vladimir tore his eyes away from the book to shake it, more out of ingrained instinct than desire. Although he had offered to let her join him, he was still a bit disappointed that she said yes and invaded his solitude.

"Vladimir Krum," he replied. Hermione's eyebrow went up in interest.

"The duelist?" she inquired while pulling out what appeared to be an essay from her bag. Vladimir gave a sharp nod. "I've read about you. You're in the Daily Prophet sometimes. You seem to be quite good," she complimented. Vladimir almost snorted in amusement. He was the most accomplished underage duelist alive. It had been a long time since someone had called him something as banal as 'good.'

"I do alright," he replied, playing along. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about my brother yet," Vladimir commented, putting his book to the side. This conversation had a chance to become interesting. To his surprise, Hermione scowled.

"Please don't be insulted, I'm sure he's a lovely person, but since the other schools arrived people have barely talked about anyone else. I'm quite tired hearing about 'Viktor Krum.'" This time Vladimir did snort in amusement. He had to hand it too her, the girl had candor.

"I'm not insulted. I think even Viktor gets tired of hearing about 'Viktor Krum,'" Vladimir said, which was true. Viktor wasn't all that impressed by fame. He preferred the personal satisfaction of succeeding and being the best to droves of screaming girls. Vladimir agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly.

"Really?" Hermione asked absently, her attention was being pulled to one of the dusty volumes in front of her.

"Really," Vladimir replied, effectively ending the discussion as he picked up _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

After studying in relative silence for an hour, Hermione picked up her books saying she had a potions lesson. Vladimir nodded genially at her as she said goodbye and rushed away, leaving Vladimir to his own devices once again. That didn't last long as Wilhelm came storming into the library looking defeated and plopped himself in the chair Hermione had occupied.

"_Do you know what she calls that ass? Pasha. She's got a nickname for that insufferable Russian bastard. Ugh. I don't know what she sees in him. What's so special about Pavel freaking Turchin? Absolutely nothing."_ Wilhelm rambled on for a full five minutes, in Russian, while Vladimir paid just enough attention to nod at the appropriate times. His interest in the epic nonromance of Wilhelm Richter and Amalie Foss had been especially small since she pulled the magical debt on him. _"… I mean the guy barely said a word when Amalie got into a fight with the greasy potions teacher-"_

_"She did what?"_ Vladimir asked, snapping back to attention.

_"She got into a fight with the Hogwarts Potions Master," _Wilhelm repeated.

_"Over what?"_

_"Well she called his curriculum pathetic and when he got in her face she told him he was disappointing and maybe an idiot, but that part might have come later after he called her an ignorant child."_

Vladimir couldn't help but smile lightly at his friend's adventures. It's not everyday you got to see a teenage girl go toe-to-toe with one of the most sought after intellects in Britain. _"Who won the argument?"_

_"I don't even know, they were talking over each other at the end and Amalie stormed out while he turned and started yelling at his students. You know my English isn't the best." _Vladmir let out a laugh that got both him and Wilhelm kicked out of the library by an old harpy named Madam Pince.

They were strolling through the halls on their way to the ship when Vladimir had his second encounter with James Potter. He seemed to be on a patrol of some sort; all dressed up in blue Auror robes. Vladimir ducked his head down, hoping to avoid the man as he had been since his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Wilhelm ruined that by asking _"What are you doing, Vladimir?"_ in a loud voice that echoed in the empty corridor. James Potter's head snapped in their direction on the name 'Vladimir' even if he didn't understand the rest of the sentence. Vladimir straightened up and contemplated punching his best friend in the face.

The Auror scurried over to the pair, his eyes roving over Vladimir, as if he was comparing him to something. "Vladimir Krum, right? Do you mind if I talk to you alone for a minute? Oh, I'm James Potter, by the way." His question was abrupt and he seemed to notice that as his face began to redden a bit in reaction to the way he blurted out his request. Vladimir opened his mouth to say 'no' and insist he had to go back to the ship for some reason when his moron of a best friend cut him off.

"No problem, I will see you on the ship, Vladimir," Wilhelm said before walking away, blissfully unaware of his friend's ire. An awkward silence descended on the two men as James Potter seemed to gather his courage.

"Look, I know this will sound bizarre but I think that, well, uh, I think you might, er, you might be my son," the last part was rushed out. Vladimir felt his eyebrows rise high to his hairline. He tried to look disbelieving and freaked out, which wasn't too hard considering on the inside he was a mess of nerves. They hadn't been in Hogwarts for a week and already James Potter had figured out one of his family's biggest secrets.

"You are right," Vladimir replied, watching hope bloom on the Auror's face, "that does seem bizarre," he finished. Potter's hopeful expression evaporated away in seconds, replaced by a desperate, sorrowful look.

"Thirteen years ago, I lost one of my sons to the war. We thought he was dead, but we never found a body. It was believed that…" James paused as if he had to force the words out, "… that his body was obliterated, but we can't be sure. You look astoundingly similar to him; you have the same eyes, like my wife's, an exact copy. You're the right age, the same height as my other son, Thomas. Please. Is there any chance that you could be Harry Potter?"

Vladimir paused, thinking quickly. He couldn't lie about being adopted, it was official, and if anyone cared to look into his records they would know. He also knew he had to keep the Potters, and more importantly Dumbledore, off his trail for as long as possible, at least until Pettigrew was dead and there'd be no one to contest his father's story and accuse him of kidnapping. The Krums had been amassing their political power for years with the intention that if it was ever discovered that Vladimir was born Harry Potter, they'd be able to keep him anyway. Vladimir would have stayed in Bulgaria and avoided all this risk of exposure if Karkaroff hadn't threatened to expel him if he didn't go to the Tournament.

Taking a deep breath, Vladimir prepared for the best bit of acting he had ever preformed and thanked Merlin that his English was leagues ahead of his brothers. "Mr. Potter, I am so sorry about what happened to your son. It sounds very tragic. However, I think maybe your grief is getting the best of you. There is no possible way that I could be your son. I'm sorry." Vladimir walked away, not waiting for a response, the miserable look on James' face bothering him more than it should. Vladimir loved his family. Grigor and Iskra had taught him everything he knew, had loved him, had helped him become a winner. He had seen brief glimpses of Thomas Potter since his arrival and was absolutely abhorred by what he saw: prideful, arrogant, and not enough talent to back it up. It disturbed Vladimir that that was what he could have become if Grigor hadn't saved him. He was thankful to be raised a Krum. So why did the crushed look on James Potters face bother him so much?

He hoped Potter would let it go and not look into him too deeply. One look at the official story would ignite his hope considerably. If he got others involved, a custody battle could take place, one with far reaching consequences. He was, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Viktor Krum had just finished taking a shower and was pulling on his uniform when his brother burst into their cabin looking agitated.

_"What's wrong?"_ he questioned in Bulgarian. Vladimir looked straight into his eyes.

_"James Potter asked me if I was his lost son a few minutes ago. We need to find Pettigrew, and we need to do it soon," _Vladimir said tersely.Viktor went rigid; he hadn't expected things to start happening so quickly.

"_What did you tell him?"_ Viktor questioned.

_"That it wasn't possible. I didn't give him time to reply. If they start looking into this, things are going to get rough. I'll find a way to fire call Father tonight and let him know, an owl would take too long. You have to start looking for Pettigrew. Any idea how you're going to locate him?" _Vladimir asked.

"_I tried a spell last night, but it didn't work. He must be somewhere heavily warded. There are only two other options I can think of. The Carta Ritual-"_

_"The one that requires a human sacrifice?"_ Vladimir interrupted.

"_Yes, that one. Or the Location Potion." _Viktor finished.

_"Well, I guess it has to be the potion. Although, I'm sure no one would miss him if we sacrificed Poliakoff,"_ Vladimir joked absently, knowing Poliakoff's attitude toward his brother. _"When can you brew it? Or do you need help?"_

"_I can't brew it. I doubt you can either. It's startlingly advanced, some Potions Masters struggle with it,"_ Viktor replied. Vladimir huffed in frustration.

_"Then what are we supposed to do, Viktor?"_

_"I know someone who can brew it, so do you,"_ Viktor said carefully, unsure how his brother would respond, considering his recent animosity with this individual.

Vladimir, never slow on the uptake, looked at his brother in mounting horror. _"Oh no. Viktor, we can't. I refuse to ask Amalie. The little psychopath will twist this to her advantage. Besides, we don't even know if she can brew it. It might be beyond even her,"_ Vladimir babbled. Viktor raised an eyebrow.

_"What happened between you two? You used to be good friends,_" Viktor asked, this little bit of information had been bothering him all week. The question seemed to ignite his brother's fury.

_"I'll tell you what happened! She cornered me into a magical debt over an arbitrary piece of information! I owe her already and now you want to owe her as well? She won't even tell me what I'll have to do, she's just holding it over my head, trying to drive me insane!" _Vladimir was breathing unusually hard.

_"She seems to be succeeding. Calm down, brother, she's probably just messing with you for laughs. In a week I'm sure she'll have you carry her books around or something stupid to fulfill the debt and you'll be free. But we need her if we're going to get to Pettigrew without slowly bleeding Poliakoff out in a circle of flaming runes,"_ Viktor said sensibly.

_"I still think that second plan has merit,_" Vladimir mumbled. _"Fine. But you get to ask her. I've got a Tournament to win, I don't have time to fulfill a thousand magical debts for a Norwegian sociopath who enjoys watching me suffer_." With that dramatic exclamation, Vladimir stormed out of their room in a similar way to how he stormed in. Viktor gave an amused snort; his brother could be such a drama queen sometimes.


	8. Agreement

**November 4,1994**

"You did what?!" screeched a particularly incensed Lily Potter at her embarrassed husband.

"I, er, asked Vladimir Krum if he might be our son…" James could see Sirius throw his face into his hands out of the corner of his eye. Apparently his best friend also thought it had been a stupid idea. Lily, James, Sirius and Remus were gathered in Lily's quarters in the Professors living wing. The three Aurors were off duty and the four had agreed to meet in Lily's quarters to spend some much needed time together that everyone's busy schedules seemed determined to limit.

"Why would you _do that_, James?" cried Lily. "We agreed we'd wait until we got more information! You probably scared him off! He probably thinks you're crazy or disturbed! Why couldn't you wait?"

"I don't know! He was just…. There! I had to talk to him. This whole thing is driving me mad!" James shouted defensively. Lily seemed to deflate at his words, falling listlessly into an armchair by the fire. James immediately felt a harsh wave of guilt. "Lils, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to confront him; it's just the idea that he could be… Harry… is like all of our prayers are being answered, but the possibility that he isn't is like him disappearing all over again," James said quietly, his eyes burning ever since he'd stumbled over Harry's name. They almost never said it; the memories were too painful.

"What if he's not?" Lily whispered while staring into the fire. "What if he's not our son? He's got very similar eyes to mine, and his hair sticks up like yours, but there's something… off about his appearance. In some ways he doesn't resemble either of us," Lily said, turning sad eyes on her husband. James felt his stomach drop. He couldn't stand to see that kind of despondent look on his wife's face.

Remus stepped forward and cleared his throat, drawing the couple's attention. James immediately invested all of his focus on his favorite werewolf. While James and Sirius had both been on duty today, Remus had the day off, and he agreed to go into the Ministry to look up all he could on Vladimir Krum.

"It might not be as farfetched as it seems," Remus said in his calmest voice. The one usually employed when dealing with children. James, Lily, and Sirius, who'd been unusually quiet up until this point, perked up.

"What did you find out, Remus?" Lily asked eagerly. James didn't know weather to be relieved or worried to see new hope blossoming across her face.

"I started by looking through adoption records. At first, I couldn't find any paper work related to the Krums. They never enquired for a baby with their own government, let alone ours. I also couldn't find anything related to Harry Potter either, but I didn't expect to. There's no way his name could have gone through official channels without getting noticed considering how recognizable 'Potter' is nowadays," Remus explained. The Potters and Sirius nodded, completely transfixed by what Remus was saying.

"I had pretty much lost hope by that point," Remus admitted. "I went to the offices for the Department of International Magical Cooperation as a sort of final effort. As you can imagine it's quite chaotic in there considering the Tournament, I don't think anyone even noticed I was looking around. Under a huge file on the World Cup, I found an old missive signed by someone named Sergei Litvin from the Bulgarian government, to inform, not request, the British Ministry that a baby found being drowned in the Forest of Dean was rescued and adopted by Grigor Krum. There was no subsequent investigation. It was assumed the kid was orphaned by the war," Remus finished. Sirius seemed to have had enough of silence.

"Those idiots! Who lets an unknown child be held in a foreign country? Merlin, the Ministry is a joke! We work for bloody morons," Sirius howled. He had obviously made up his mind that Vladimir Krum was Harry, and his righteous indignation was monumental.

"Well it was just after the fall of Voldemort, right? It was probably a very busy time at the Ministry," Lily said fairly. Sirius looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"You do realize that if Vladimir is Harry, than you've lost over a decade of your sons life to another family because of this, right?" Sirius questioned.

James jumped to his wife's defense. "Yes, Padfoot, we get it. There's nothing we can do now except try to return Harry to his rightful place… if that's Harry. Merlin, this is complicated," he finished muttering to himself.

"I think we should go to Dumbledore," Remus stated, being the perpetual voice of reason. "Maybe he can use his influence in the Wizengamot to get some sort of investigation underway."

"The case is thirteen years old, Moony. Do you really think they're going to be able to come up with any new information?" Sirius asked derisively. Lily shot him an irritated look.

"Probably not, but it may force the Bulgarian government to release whatever documents they have on the incident. We might be able to deduce something from there."

"Remus, you're brilliant," James breathed. He stood up in a flurry of blue robes. "I'll go speak to Dumbledore!" James swept out of his wife's rooms with Lily right on his heels.

Sirius looked at Remus. "Do you think Lily's got any firewhisky stashed around here?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Krum brothers were walking side by side through the hallways of the Durmstrang ship. Despite his vicious protests, Vladimir was accompanying Viktor to speak to Amalie about brewing the Location Potion. Vladimir resentfully reminisced on how Viktor had demanded his presence, claiming that he had a more developed relationship with her and that he needed to be present for the conversation. Vladimir had told him to go to hell. Viktor told him to stop being a little bitch and just do it.

They stepped in front of the dark wood of Amalie's door, and Viktor knocked three times sharply. Vladimir had an active scowl on his face and Viktor felt like rolling his eyes. Thirty seconds had passed and Viktor was about to knock again when the door swung open to reveal the diminutive form of Amalie Foss dressed in casual, though obviously expensive, silver robes. Her eyes drank in the brothers with a calculating gleam as she leaned against her door jam.

"_To what do I owe this pleasure?" _she asked in Russian, one eyebrow rose inquisitively.

_"We need a favor. Perhaps we could discuss this a little more privately,"_ Viktor enquired, tilting his head toward her room.

"_Of course,"_ she replied, moving out of the doorway. The brothers stepped through the door, looking about the room perfunctorily. _"Luckily my roommate is out doing Merlin knows what,"_ Amalie scowled. Viktor got the impression that Amalie didn't like her roommate, one of the only other girls in the contingent, but dismissed the fact as being unimportant. _"So what can I do for you?" _she asked once the door was closed and a few privacy spells and wards had been erected. She was just as paranoid as the Krums.

"_We need your help with a potion,"_ Viktor said plainly, not one for pleasantries or unnecessary talk. Vladimir nodded his head in silent agreement, still refusing to say anything.

_"What potion, for what purpose, and what do I get in return?"_ she fired off with nonchalance. This certainly wasn't the first time someone had asked for her considerable brewing abilities and it wouldn't be the last.

_"The Location Potion, none of your damn business, and I won't blast you across the ship,"_ Vladimir cut in caustically before Viktor could answer.

_"Well as tempting as that sounds,"_ she returned sarcastically, _"I think I'll have to decline." _Viktor scowled at his brother before returning his attention to Amalie.

_"What do you want?" _

"_Well now that you mention it, I do have something that I think you two could help with. You two specifically."_ Amalie strode up to one of the beds, presumably hers, and picked up a dusty tome lying there. She turned it to a page in the middle and then handed it to Viktor, a sketch of a gigantic serpent stared up at him.

"_A basilisk?"_ he questioned, confused. Why would she show him a picture of a basilisk? Vladimir seemed to have forgotten his ire for the moment and was looking at the page in curiosity.

"_Yes, a basilisk; extremely rare, hard to find, and harder to kill. I need basilisk venom for a potion I plan to create, one that might solidify my place in the international potions community. As you can imagine, I've been unable to get my hands on any, even from the black market. That's where you two come in. You're hunters, hunt a basilisk for me. Give me the venom and you can have the rest to do with as you please. You could languish in luxury for the rest of your natural lives just from selling the hide. The eyes could get you enough to buy Durmstrang itself. I'll tell you where to find it and brew the Location Potion in exchange for all of the venom."_

_ "You know where to find a basilisk?" _Vladimir asked skeptically, but Viktor could see the light of adventure in his brother's eyes, the craving for a challenge.

Amalie smiled genuinely for the first time since their conversation started. _"I have a hunch."_ She retrieved a second book from her bed, this one much cleaner and newer. _Hogwarts: A History _was boldly written across the cover. "_According to this, one of the Founders of Hogwarts, a wizard named Salazar Slytherin, locked a beast away in a secret chamber, the Chamber of Secrets actually, about a thousand years ago. I asked around a bit, and as it turns out the Chamber was opened two years ago and a whole bunch of students ended up petrified, before the attacks stopped when one of the students went to the infirmary complaining of headaches and blackouts. Turns out she was being possessed to release the monster within, but couldn't remember how to get to it or what it was. Whatever the monster is, they never found it. It's still in the school. I think the monster is a basilisk. Salazar Slytherin was famous for being a Parselmouth. Very few other creatures could survive for a thousand years, and even less have the ability the petrify people."_

_"Basilisks don't petrify people, they kill,"_ Viktor argued.

"_Only if you look them in the eyes,"_ Amalie countered, getting increasingly excited by her own theories. _"Perhaps they simply saw reflections of the beast? I can't be sure."_

_ "Okay, but how do we find this secret chamber then?"_ Vladimir asked, smiling despite himself. It was too much work to stay irritated with Amalie if she was going to present him with the gift of adrenalin, especially considering all the boring studying he'd been up to lately.

"_I'm already brewing a Location Potion, am I not?"_ Amalie replied, sharing a smile as well. There would be no apologies given and no forgiveness doled out for the Magical Debt. There didn't need to be, a common goal could fix their fractured friendship just as well.

_"If it's that easy to find, then why hasn't the basilisk been found before?"_ Viktor questioned, seeing a hole in the logic.

"_Because it's not__** that**__ easy, Viktor. The Location Potion is extremely difficult, only a handful of people alive today can brew it. And you need a picture of what you're searching for to find it, which means you have to know what it is. I'd bet most of these Hogwarts idiots don't even realize what they're dealing with. Maybe that ridiculous excuse for a Headmaster. Also, I'd bet just because we'll find it, doesn't mean it'll be easy to get to. There are probably some defenses that anyone who's figured it out can't get by."_

_"What makes you think we can then?"_

_ "We'll come to that bridge when we get to it,"_ Amalie said impatiently. "_Are you guys in or not? Basilisk venom is my final offer."_

_"We're in,"_ Vladimir said excitedly. Amalie held out her hand to shake on it, but Vladimir jerked back, taking Viktor with him.

_"I don't think so, you're just going to have to trust us. No magically binding contracts this time_," Vladimir stated in a voice that brooked no argument.

Amalie looked a little put out by Vladimir's impassioned declaration. _"Fine. When do you want to do this? The potion obviously has to be brewed before anything else."_

"_As soon as possible, tonight if you can manage it,"_ Viktor said seriously. They needed to get to Pettigrew as soon as possible, they also needed to find a way to contact their father and inform him of recent developments.

"_We should be able to work something out," _Amalie said thoughtfully._ "Of course, we're going to need uninterrupted access to the Hogwarts potions lab for forty eight hours. It's Friday afternoon, so we don't need to worry about students, just that damn bat, Snape." _Viktor watched, a little worriedly, as an unsettling smirk snaked it's way across her face. "_I think I know exactly what to do about him." _Viktor momentarily felt very happy not to be Snape whoever that is.

"_I heard you two had a bit of an incident, what happened?"_ asked Vladimir curiously, bringing them temporarily off topic.

"_He had the audacity to question my undisputed potions skills,"_ Amalie replied haughtily. _"He was a huge disappointment as far as a professor goes, and I simply informed him of this truth. No matter, when I replace him as the youngest Potion's Master in history, he will learn exactly how out of his league he is." _Viktor recognized the bitterness in her voice for what it was. Whoever this Snape guy was, Amalie must have idolized him. It must have been a huge hit to her pride to be dismissed by her hero. Now she was out to avenge her bruised ego.

Vladimir nodded placating, his curiosity seemed at least somewhat satisfied, even though it was clear there was more to this particular story.

"_It's not important right now, just know that I shall handle Snape. Meet me on the top deck at midnight."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Professor Severus Snape was a huge fan of Friday nights. He now had two full days to look forward to without having to try and teach any ungrateful brats the subtle art of brewing. Dinner in the Great Hall was it's usual noisy affair, but even that couldn't bring down Snape's mood. He was looking forward to reading his latest potions journal in front of his personal fireplace tonight. The only thing that could improve his plans was the inclusion of a certain redhead at his side, but she was spending the night with her _husband _and his idiot friends.

Snape grabbed his goblet, intending to take a swig of pumpkin juice, when a curious smell invaded his nostrils. He paused and sniffed the drink again, barely detecting a hint of powdered root of asphodel. He sat the goblet down careful, and began to survey the room carefully. Someone had tried to drug him with the Draught of Living Death. He was instantly on alert, considering the necessity of informing Dumbledore as well as yelling at Potter and Black. What was the point of having those insufferable Aurors around if someone almost succeeded in poisoning him?

His scanning eyes landed on the pale, blonde form of that arrogant Durmstarng brat that had invaded his classroom earlier that day. She had been trying to gain eye contact with him from the Slytherin table, apparently, as she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a mocking little wave.

Snape relaxed a bit, seeing that it was only a disgruntled student trying to prove a point, and nothing more sinister. He still planned on yelling at Potter though. The Durmstrang terror must have been trying to prove her so called proficiency by brewing the difficult Draught. Snape was far from impressed. Even though it was a difficult potion to brew, it was quite possible for a sixteen year old to accomplish the feat if they had focus and discipline. It did not bespeak a special predilection for potion brewing, and certainly didn't prove her superior to him. He sneered at her openly and pushed his food away. He'd get something sent up straight from the kitchens to his room tonight. With that, he swept out of the Great Hall, not even waiting for the conclusion of the meal.

That night, Snape was sitting in his favorite armchair in his quarters reading his latest potions journal. A silver trey appeared on the small table beside him, compliments of the Hogwarts House Elves. It was loaded down with tea, sandwiches and small cakes. Absently, Snape picked up a white china cup filled with his favorite peppermint tea, exactly the way he liked it. Without looking away from his reading, he lifted the cup to his nose and inhaled, checking to see if the foreign brat had made another attempt, although he highly doubted she'd be able to access the kitchens.

He took a strong whiff and immediately started to cough. The tea had smelt exactly as it should, but it felt as if he'd snorted a pile of dust. Eyes streaming with tears as he hacked, Snape noticed a nearly undetectable line of white powder, the same color as the cup, around the rim of the glass. Struggling to breathe Snape fell to his knees, dropping the cup and desperately clutching the side table with the trey. He noticed a small white card where his tea used to be, and grabbed it with shaking hands. In loopy black letters was the simple statement: "A true Potions Master knows poisons can be inhaled just as easily as they can be swallowed."

Right before slumping to the ground in an unconscious heap, Severus Snape felt a grudging moment of respect for the vile little upstart.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Surprise! The note is at the end! I just wanted your opinion on something. I have a oneshot half written detailing 'the incident' between Amalie Foss and Snape (originally it was going to be part of the actual story but it didn't add enough plot development to be considered important, and it's full of original characters and I know that can be annoying to some readers). Would you guys (and gals) be interested if I posted it separately? I'm considering doing a companion set of oneshots to this story but I haven't decided yet. There would definitely be some snap shots of Vladimir growing up, Thomas growing up, the Krums at Durmstrang, alternate scenes and other things like that if I where to go down that road. Maybe even some Voldemort, who knows? Let me know if you have strong feelings one way or another. I hope you enjoyed!_


	9. Nightmare

_Sorry this update took so long, but fear not! I will never give up on this story. It will be finished. Enjoy!_

**November 5, 1994**

Vladimir stood stoically on the top deck of the Durmstrang ship, allowing the chilled November air to swirl around him. He double-checked his robe pocket to make sure he had the picture of Pettigrew he'd 'liberated' from a Hogwarts yearbook in the library after dinner. A short, squinty-eyed little man looked out at him from the picture with a tentative smile. Vladimir thought he looked pathetic and felt a brief moment of shame that they hadn't been able to find the bastard. That'd be corrected soon.

Hearing soft footsteps with well-trained ears, Vladimir turned around to see Amalie Foss approaching with all the grace her rich, pureblood upbringing instilled in her. "_Where is Viktor?"_

"_Karkaroff demanded that he join him in his cabin for some sort of discussion,"_ Vladimir rolled his eyes "_so it's just us and Wilhelm_."

Amalie raised a single, pale eyebrow. "_Why's Wilhelm coming?"_

"_He overheard me and Viktor talking about sneaking into the school and wanted to come along, said the ship was getting dull."_ This wasn't technically true, Wilhelm had overheard Vladimir and Viktor, but he'd been more interested in the fact that Amalie was going then sneaking into the castle. Vladimir couldn't talk him out of joining them, but he hadn't tried very hard either. Wilhelm was his best friend and a very competent wizard. He could be helpful if they ended up in the Chamber of Secrets at some point.

Amalie shrugged her shoulders and nodded once in understanding. _"If you think he can be trusted. I did drug a teacher, after all. I can't have that kind of information floating around."_ A dangerous smirk slipped onto her face.

"_How can you be sure that Snape fellow won't figure out it was you?"_ Vladimir asked.

"_Oh, he knows. I made sure of it. But he won't tell anyone, he'll try and get revenge himself, and when he does, I'll be ready."_ She said it with unshakeable confidence, as if the idea of Snape turning her into the Aurors was as likely as the Chudley Cannons winning the next Quidditch World Cup.

Looking over her shoulder, Vladimir spotted Wilhelm walking up to join them. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, the trio began their trek up to Hogwarts, allowing the night to conceal them until they reached the Beauxbatons carriage, where they applied strong disillusionment charms. Once inside the castle, Vladimir and Wilhelm followed Amalie as she descended down into the dungeons, all the while avoiding the patrolling Aurors, and past the potions lab toward a massive portrait of vampire bat swooping down to attack a muggle village.

"Winky!"She called out quietly. A sharp pop had the trio turning around as a house elf appeared wearing a little toga like uniform with the Hogwarts crest on the chest and clutching a bottle of firewhisky.

"Miss Foss! You is calling for Winky again! Did Winky do a good job?" The elf was slurring her words badly, still clutching her bottle and looking desperately at Amalie, begging for approval with large, tennis ball eyes.

"That depends, Winky. Did you listen for the bat-mans password like I told you to do?" Amalie asked with a neutral tone, the kind of tone that parents with unreasonably high expectations use on children desperate for their acknowledgement and approval.

"Yes! Winky is a good elf! Winky sent the tea to the bat-man like Miss Foss said so! With the card that Miss Foss writed! Winky listened for the bat-man's password!" The elf was getting excited, it was nearly yelling. Vladimir looked around to see if anyone had heard and was coming to investigate, but the hallway remained empty.

"What is it?" Amalie asked patiently.

"Uh, Winky is remembering, uh, oh! Lily! The password is Lily!" Winky exclaimed after a moment of confusion. Amalie turned back to the vampire bat.

"Lily." The bat nodded disconcertingly, red eyes sweeping across the three students and house elf before the painting swung forward, revealing a dark living room. The group of three stepped inside, Winky stumbling in afterwards. Only a dying fire lit the shadowed room. Wilhelm waved his wand toward the fireplace, and the flames jumped up in size and intensity, banishing some of the oppressive darkness and highlighting the black robed figure sprawled on the floor. Wilhelm let loose a long, appreciative whistle.

"_Damn, Amalie. What did you do to the poor guy?" _

"_I had Winky put a ring of dehydrated Xhosa Elixir around the rim of his glass. It locks the user into a dream state for at least two days, where he'll experience pleasant dreams that turn into nightmares."_ Vladimir raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. There was something… cruel about trapping someone in their nightmares, but he supposed the end justified the means. They needed Snape out of the way, now he was.

"_Why are we here? We should get started on the potion."_ Vladimir reminded. Amalie looked completely unimpressed by his attitude.

"_You're the one who needed to floo call your father,"_ she gestured casually to the fireplace. "_You're welcome._ Winky, clean up the trey and the spilled tea and then we'll discuss whether or not I'll buy you from Dumbledore."

"Oh, thank you Miss Foss! Winky is cleaning right now!" the house elf shrieked as she disappeared with the silver trey in hand.

Amalie smirked, "_Recently fired house elves are even easier to manipulate than washed up old Potions Master_s." With that, Amalie levitated the body of her adversary and moved him to what Vladimir assumed was his bedroom. Wilhelm followed, leaving Vladimir to call his father in peace. Grabbing a handful of sparkling green powder from the mantle, Vladimir threw it into the flames and stuck his head into the fireplace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sev… Sev, wake up." Severus felt gentle fingers slipping through his hair as he fought through the darkness. He pulled his eyes open, squinting against the light, and realized, by the lack of dark stone that characterized his rooms in the Hogwarts dungeons, that he was staring at the ceiling of his bedroom at Spinners End- his family home.

"There we go, sleepyhead. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to open your eyes," a soft, feminine, _familiar _voice said from beside him. He turned to the right and his black eyes locked with a pair of vibrant green ones. "Good morning, dear," said Lily Evans as she leaned forward to kiss Severus on the lips. Severus was too shocked to kiss back, but Lily didn't seem to notice. "Did you sleep well?"

"Ye-es," Severus choked out. He wasn't sure what it was, but something seemed... wrong. His mind was muddled and foggy but, as all people do when they dream, he quickly got passed it. He was waking up to the beautiful face of Lily Evans, what could possibly be wrong? "How did you sleep, love?"

"Pretty well, considering," she replied with a light smile, not bothering to elaborate.

"Considering what?" he asked absently, his eyes zeroing in on the wedding ring on Lily's finger, the ring that had once belonged to his own mother, a Prince family heirloom.

"You know what," she said simply. Severus didn't press. Instead he leaned forward to kiss his wife, and of course she was his wife, how could he have forgotten? "I'll go get started on breakfast," she offered. Once she had managed to pull herself out of their bed, the _what _became abundantly apparent as Severus watched her put a hand on her huge, swollen belly that he had somehow failed to notice before this point. He wasn't too surprised though, because of course Lily was pregnant, how could he have forgotten? After watching his beautiful wife waddle out of their room, Snape threw off the covers and went to get dressed. Upon removing his nightshirt, he absentmindedly noticed the lack of a Dark Mark on his arm, but that made sense. He was married to Lily with a child on the way and never worked for a Dark Lord, everything was as it should be.

He walked into the kitchen, which was cleaner and brighter than it had ever been, and kissed Lily on the cheek as she took a kettle off the stove and poured hot water into two cups, the smell of peppermint filled the air. They ate together while sharing an intelligent conversation about potions and politics and anything else that came to mind.

Abruptly, in that confusing, simultaneous way only achieved in dreams, Severus was leaning against one of his hallway walls listening to his wife screaming over the instructions of the midwife. Her shrieks cut off suddenly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. A woman with greying hair and a sweat-covered face stepped out, holding a bundle in her arms, with a solemn look on her face.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there were some complications. Your wife didn't make it," she said matter-of-factly. Severus didn't say anything, he couldn't, the horror of the situation was crushing the breath from his lungs. His beautiful Lily was…dead. "Would you like to see your son?" she asked. Severus nodded his head mechanically, and leaned to look at the face of the child Lily died for. Unruly black hair sat upon the boy's head, his lids fluttered open delicately to reveal unusually aware hazel eyes, the same color as…

"Ah, there's my boy!" Blue robed arms darted forward and snatched the bundle from the midwife, who didn't protest in the least. Severus whirled around to see James Potter and Sirius Black standing, inexplicably, in his hallway, the newborn in James' arms.

"He looks just like you James!" said the overly cheerful Sirius. Severus was too stunned to demand they leave; he was too stunned to do anything. "It's too bad about Lily, though," he said as an afterthought. James just shrugged.

"At least we got this little guy! What do you think Sirius? Should I name him Harry or Thomas? You're the godfather, by the way."

"Naturally," Sirius replied. "Why don't we ask Remus what he thinks?" A loud growling sound filled the hallway, but James and Sirius, who'd been ignoring Severus the entire time, seemed completely unconcerned as they moved into another room, revealing a snarling werewolf poised to pounce. Severus turned to run, when a sharp pain in his forearm brought him to his knees. Wrenching up his sleeve, Severus watched as the Dark Mark bloomed into existence on his arm. Panicking, Severus looked up just in time to see Remus Lupin lunge for his throat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, deep in thought. The Potter's had burst into this very room earlier, babbling excitedly about adoptions and Vladimir Krum. He'd listened intently to their story and their theory, feeling dread fill him with every word. It made a sickening sort of sense he'd been trying to avoid for years. Thomas, while above average, was certainly nothing special magically speaking, and he had no discipline or desire for intense magical training. He, like most, thought he'd destroyed Voldemort forever. He got decent grades, and kept up without a problem, but he had nowhere near the same raw potential Tom Riddle had at that age. Dumbledore was almost positive any encounter between the two would end up with Thomas dead, and that didn't bode well if what Dumbledore was sure would happen this year came to fruition. The Light's Savior and pawn was going to get blown right off the chessboard at this rate.

Vladimir Krum, on the other hand, was a magical powerhouse, well trained, talented and dangerous. If he really was Harry Potter, then that means he'd lived through Voldemort's attack, probably surviving the killing curse. If Vladimir is Harry, he quite possibly could be the Boy-Who-Lived. He was so sure it'd been Thomas; his aura had been tainted by Dark magic on that fateful Halloween. Thinking back on it, Dumbledore grudgingly conceded, to himself, that perhaps he had been wrong and the Dark magic came from being in such close proximity to Harry if or when he was hit.

What caused Dumbledore distress was the fact that Vladimir had no loyalty to or trust in him. He'd never even talked to the Headmaster. How could Dumbledore set Vladimir up against Voldemort if he had no reason to do exactly as told, no questions asked? Dumbledore made a decision. In order to get Vladimir under his thumb, he needed the boy enrolled at Hogwarts. The easiest way to accomplish that would be reuniting James and Lily with their long lost son permanently. This plan had the added bonus of allowing Dumbledore to come off as a sort of benevolent hero to the young man. He will be delighted to be reunited with his real family, and feel indebted to Dumbledore for making it happen. Dumbledore smiled as he pulled out some parchment and ink, preparing to get a formal investigation underway. This could definitely work out in his favor.


End file.
